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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/argonautlettersOOhartrich 


Argonaut  Letters 


Argonaut  Letters 

—  BY— 

JEROME    A.  HART 


A  COLLECTION   OF  GOSSIPY  SKETCHES  WRITTEN 

FROM  ABROAD  IN  THE  SPRING  AND 

SUMMER  OF   1900 


''Argonaut  Letters  "  makes  a  volume  of  about  ^ 00  pages,  handsomely 
printed  in  large  type,  on  heavy  paper,  T/iere  are  over  60 
illustrations  from  photographs.  T/u  book  is  richly  bound 
ivith  a  unique  cover  design  by  L.  M.  Upton.  As  the 
volume  is  printed  only  in  response  to  requests  for  these  letters 
in  permanent  form,  the  edition  is  a  limited  one.  No  plates 
have  been  made.  It  is  printed  from  new  type  and  the  type 
distributed.      Those  desiring  it  should  tlierefore  order  at  once. 


Orders  received  by  mail  or  telephone.     Address 

THE  ARGONAUT  PUBLISHING  CO. 

246  Sutter  St.,  San  Francisco 


Telephone  James  2531 

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TABLE    OF   CONTENTS, 


I. — Crossing  the  Pond — Islands  in  Mid- 
Atlantic— Sunset  on  the  Azores — The  kind  of 
people  one  meets  in  traveling — The  London 
'Arry— Seasick  men  in  yachting  caps — The  Little 
German  Band— A  parsimonious  steamship  com- 
pany— A  petty  swindle — Musical  scullions. 

II. —  Gibraltar — Her  marine  pageant 
compared  with  New  York's— Curious  names  for 
streets — The  moonlit  Alameda  gardens — Tommy 
Atkins  in  his  variety — A  queer  mistake— Gibraltar 
as  a  dump. 

III. — Around    the     Mediterranean — 

From  Gibraltar  to  Genoa — Majorca,  General 
Weyler's  home  —  The  Mediterranean  not  a 
"  placid  summer  sea  " — The  stormy  Gulf  of  Lyons 
— A  Riviera  panorama — Monte  Carlo  seen  from 
the  sea— Villafranca  and  Vintimiglia — Why  Queen 
Victoria  did  not  go  to  San  Remo— Genoa  La  Su- 
perba  —  The  Molo  Nuovo  —  The  extraordinary 
Campo  Santo — Tombs  curious  and  grotesque — 
Venetian  lace  in  marble— Plump  and  giddy  angels 
— Modern  Italian  art — From  Genoa  to  Alexan- 
dria— Passing  Corsica  and  Elba — Napoleon's  one 
hundred  days — The  Straits  of  Messina — Vesuvius, 
Stromboli,  and  ^tna— The  panorama  of  the 
Calabrian  and  Sicilian  shores— The  city  of 
Messina — The  island  of  Crete — Landing  at  Alex- 
andria— The  delta  of  the  Nile— The  pilot  in  his 
felucca — The  Alexandrian  boatmen — The  City  of 
Hypatia. 

IV. — A  Glimpse  of  Egypt — The  rail 
from  Alexandria  to  Cairo — The  mild-eyed  fellaheen 
— Water-storage  schemes  —  Primitive  pumping 
works — The  Nile  as  a  civilizer — Mena  House 
—Riding,  driving,  shooting,  and  golf  around  the 
Pyramids— The  Arab  guides— The  Sheik  of  the 
Pyramids — The  Arab's  backsheesh  tariff— A  great 
Mohammedan  university — The  Mosque  of  El- 
Azhar — Feeding  the  fires  of  fanaticism — Hated 
Christians— Studying  the  Koran— Students  of  all 
ages — From  India,  Persia,  Turkey,  Morocco, 
Java,  and  all  Islam — The  earnestness  of  Moham- 
medanism—Occidental and  Oriental  methods  con- 
trasted— The  petticoated  Oriental— Mohammedan 
buj-s  playing  foot-ball— Cairo  caf^  idlers— Sleeping 
in  the  streets — The  crooked  stick  plow,  the  sickle 
and  scythe— New  and  old  Egypt  on  the  Nile 
bridge— The  citadel  at  Cairo— Emin  Bey's  wild 
leap  —  The  massacre  of  the  Mameluke  Beys  — 
"Joseph's  Well"  in  old  Cairo  —  Old  Coptic 
church— Did  the  Caliph  Omar  burn  the  Alex- 
andrian Library  ?— The  season  in  Egypt  short— 
The  life  of  lies  in  Egypt  long. 


V.  —  Alexandria    to    Naples  —  Queer 

passenger  list  —  Types  of  Bunthorne  and  Joe 
Sedley  —  German  brides  and  grooms  —  Harem 
ladies— Russian  and  Italian  titles— Napoleon  III. 
and  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor — "The 
April  of  Life" — Europe's  Arctic  spring— Furs 
with  Easter  bonnets  —  "  Sunny  "  Italy  —  Cali- 
fornia's weather  compared  —  Princes  exiled  by 
climate  —  Weather-bound  royalty  —  Race-meeting 
at  Naples —  Parade  of  four-in-hands  —  Naples 
newspapers  —  Political  rows  —  The  Prince  and 
Princess    of   Naples— The    royal    palace— Tips. 

VI. — Pompeii  —  A  new  house  there — In- 
crease in  number  of  tourists — Luncheon  at  Villa 
Diom^de — The  Cavalleria  Rusticana — American 
music  at  Pompeii  —  Vociferous  Teutonic  trav- 
elers. 

VII.  —  A    Roman    Garden- Party  —  The 

wisdom  of  consulting  the  newspapers — A  Charity 
Kermess  on  the  Pincian  Hill — Queen  Margherita's 
appearance — Drives  in  state  —  Scarlet  liveries  — 
The  queen's  pearls  —  Her  taste  for  music  and 
letters — Royal  residences  —  King  Humbert  and 
Pope  Leo — United  Italy  not  united— A  religious 
riot  on  the  Corso. 

VIII.  —  Arms   and   the    Man  —  Brilliant 

military  drones  —  Uniforms  worn  everywhere  — 
Officers  live  in  caf^s — What  Italy  pays  for  brass 
buttons  —  She  groans  under  militarism  —  Her 
heavy  taxes  —  Italy  compared  to  California  — 
Fear  of  conscription — The  emigration  enormous. 

IX. —  A   Roman    Race-Course  —  Patri- 

cian  and  plebeians  at  the  races — Prizes,  betting, 
and  admission  tariff — No  bookmakers — The  re- 
served Tribune — The  Roman  populace — Cham- 
pagne and  Chianti — The  king  comes  to  see  the 
"  Royal  Derby  " — The  drive  by  the  Appian  Way. 

X. — The   Grave  of  Romulus — Birthday 

celebration  in  the  Forum — Humbert  and  Leo  as 
rival  stars — Pagan  Rome  vs.  Christian  Rome — 
Margherita's  enthusiasm  —  Archaeological  re- 
searches costly — Baedeker  maidens  give  the  Cha- 
tauqua  salute. 

XL  —  Modern   Pilgrims  —  Guide  -  book 

pilgrims  and  prayer-book  pilgrims — Baedekerites, 
old  ladies,  and  girly  -  girls  —  Tourists,  young, 
elderly,  and  old — Lecturers  and  German  tourists 
— Pilgrims  in  droves — Pilgrims  in  the  galleries — 
Queer  things  that  happen  to  pilgrims — The  re- 
publicanism of  soap  —  Pilgrims  jammed  in 
trams. 


XII. — A    Volcano's   Thunder — Tourists 

flock  to  Naples — A  spectacular  eruption — The 
drive  from  Naples  to  Pompeii  —  Road  to  the 
volcano  closed — Newspaper  fakes  arouse  indig- 
nant officials — A  royal  review  of  troops — Naval 
parade—A  natural  amphitheatre — Salute  from  the 
fleet — Salute  from  the  volcano. 

XIII. — New    Things    in    Old    Rome — 

An  outdoor  festival  in  Villa  Borghese — A  beau- 
tiful old  garden — Wild  flowers  and  grass-grown 
hills — Mutilated  statues  and  gray  ruins — Bread 
and  circuses — Hurdle  races  and  automobiles — 
Four-in-hand  driving  contest — California  stage- 
driving — Willie  Whiffietree  on  form-driving. 

XIV. — Making   Saints   at  St.    Peter's 

— The  Basilica  illuminated — No  steeple-jacks  for 
St.  Peter's  —  The  ceremony  of  canonization  — 
Tickets  of  admission — "Gratis"  at  twenty  francs 
— The  wild  mob  of  pilgrims — Many  accidents — 
The  Sampietrini — Tawdry  banners  in  the  church 
— A  revolting  spectacle — The  squadron  of  work- 
men— A  light  lady  buried  in  St.  Peter's — The 
Golden  Rose. 

XV. — The  Wheels  of  the  Vatican — 

How  the  Vatican  is  run — Its  police  and  its  troops 
— Boundary  between  Italy  and  the  Vatican — 
Italian  and  Papal  sentries  —  The  Pope  driving 
seen  from  St.  Peter's  dome — His  military  escort 

—  The  Vatican  army  —  Ho,w  it  is  composed  — 
The  Swiss  Guard  and  the  Noble  Guard— The 
Vatican  court — Its  chamberlains  and  courtiers — 
The  Vatican  gardens — The  old  gardeners — The 
Pope's  poultry-yard  and  orchard — Summer-house 
of  the  Popes. 

XVI.— S.  P.  Q.  R.— The  senate  and  people 
of  Rome  —  Rome's  board  of  aldermen  —  Their 
street  -  car  lines  —  Municipal  jobbery  —  Roman 
street  -  car  franchises  —  Roman  street  assessments 

—  Roman  sidewalks  —  Enlarging  the  Roman 
squares — Changing  the  grade  of  Roman  streets 

—  Constructing  Roman  sewers  —  Roman  news- 
papers and  their  "small  ads." — Auction  sales — 

—  Dead  cardinals'  libraries  —  Deceased  noble- 
men's bric-a-brac — Furniture  for  sale  by  noble 
families  —  Roman  posters  and  placards  —  Notes 
on  Roman  newspapers  —  Death  of  a  Roman 
editor — An  imposing  funeral  pageant — A  funeral 
a  thousand  miles  long — The  city  directory  of 
Rome — Pages  for  patricians  and  plebeians — The 
oddities  of  the  ancient  city — Roman  artists  all 
dead — Rome's  countless  fountains — Farewell  to 
the  Fountain  of  Frevi. 

XVII. — Florence — Outdoor  sports  in  the 
city  on  the  Arno — Pleasure-loving  Florentines — 
Golf  links — Tennis  and  pallone  matches — Auto- 
mobile parade  past  Savonarola's  funeral  pyre — 
The  unfinished  Strozzi  Palace — Carriage  parade 
in    the    Cascine — Italian  golf    caddies — Florence 


haunted  by  art  faddists — Botticellian  cranks  and 
Fra  Angelican  freaks — Botticelli's  telescopic  lady 

—  His  crooked  Venuses  —  Attacks  on  famous 
pictures'  pedigrees — Tempests  in  artistic  teapots. 

XVIII. — The   Garden  of   Lombard y — 

The  rich  valleys  of  the  Po  —  Italian  thrift  — 
Wonders  of  irrigation — Fine  shops  and  galleries 
of  Milan — The  handsome  boulevards  of  Turin  — 
Prosperity  of  Northern  Italy  —  Its  valleys  com- 
pared with  California's — From  Italy  into  France — 
The  Mont  Cenis  Pass — Engineering  monuments 
— Great  tunnels  and  great  engineers. 

XIX. — In  French  Savoy — GazedeCham- 

b^ry  —  Delights  of  changing  one's  itinerary  — 
Advantages  of  roundabout  routes — The  longest 
way  around  is  often  the  pleasantest — A  French 
provincial  city  —  Its  sleepy  streets  —  Its  torpid 
caf6s — Its  local  great  men — Its  fire  department 
parade  —  Its  country  fair  —  Its  silk  shops— No 
Chamb^ry  silk  in  Chamb^ry  shops— The  pleas- 
ant-mannered Savoyards— Surliness  of  Northern 
Europeans  —  Cupid  behind  a  mule  tandem — A 
pair  of  Savoyard  lovers. 

XX. — Paris  and  Chicago — The  two  ex- 
positions compared— Individuality  of  Chicago — 
Architecture  at  the  Chicago  Fair — The  court  of 
honor — Chicago  ahead  in  architecture  and  man- 
agement— Paris    Exposition  architecture    tawdry 

—  Paris  side-shows  poor  —  Boomers'  building 
schemes — Similarity  of  world's  fairs  —  How  to 
view  an  exposition — Do  expositions  educate? — 
Physical  limitations— Time  and  fatigue— Weary 
eyes,  necks,  legs,  and  brains — Expositions  viewed 
by  camera — Theatres  and  side-shows— Financing 
of  the  exposition  —  Cheap  tickets  and  cheap 
crowds — Fruitless  advertising  schemes — Mendi- 
cancy at  the  exposition — A  mighty  beggars'  fair. 

XXI. — The  Passion  Play — What  not  to 

tell  of  it— Is  it  artistic? — Are  the  tourist  audi- 
ences good  critics  ?— Can  piety  replace  stage- 
training  ?  —  Queer  tourists  —  Raw  peasants  are 
not  good  actors — Simple  piety  replacing  stage- 
training— Profits  of  pious  peasants — An  inter- 
esting evening  at  the  Players'  Club— Should  an 
actor  feel  his  part?  —  Edwin  Booth  says  no— 
Actors  on  the  actor's  art  —  Can  a  potter  be  a 
player  ?— Can  a  player  make  pots  ? 

XXII. — Of    Eating    and    Drinking — 

American  and  European  hotels  and  restaurants — 
The  rotisseries  of  San  Francisco — French  impress 
on  cookery  on  the  Pacific  Coast— Choice  wines  in 
San  Francisco  restaurants— Epicurean  anecdot- 
age — The  restaurants  of  New  Orleans — Delica- 
cies of  the  Crescent  City— Its  French  restau- 
rants— Its  French  quarter — Its  new  hotels — Bad 
Traces  of  French  cookery  disappearing — Wash- 
ington City  —  Its  old  and  new  hotels — John 
Chamberlain's     bad     cookery  —  Mid -day     din- 


Fountain-hasijis  overgrown  with  algcc  in  Villa  Borghese.'' 


ners-  Florida  hotels— Magnificent  and  bad — 
Cookery  poor  and  pretentious — Bad  service  of 
negroes — Prices  compared  with  European  hotels 
— High  prices  in  Florida — New  York's  fine  hotels 
— Her  excellent  restaurants — Fine  as  any  in  the 
world  —  London's  inferior  restaurants  —  Poor 
service  in  the  modern  hotels — Primitive  nature  of 
the  antediluvian  hotels— The  lack  of  ice — Tainted 
meat  and  sour  milk — Prince's  Restaurant— Simp- 
son's in  the  Strand — Roast  beef  of  Old  England — 
Caf6s    and    restaurants  of   Paris— Hotels    grand 


and  otherwise— Excellence  of  the  cuisine— High 
prices — Menus  with  no  prices— Restaurants  in  the 
Bois— The  Duval  bouillons— Table  d*h6te  estab-  I 
lishments— A  dinner  on  the  European  plan—  ' 
Compared  with  the  American  plan— Fixed  price 
and  fixed  hour— Caf^s  and  restaurants  in  Milan. 
Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples — Bills  of  fare  and 
prices  in  Rome— The  hotels  of  Cairo — Among 
the  best  in  the  world— Shepheards  grill-room- 
Excellence  of  the  chops  and  steaks — The  elab- 
orate table  d'hdte  of  the  Cairo  hotels. 


OPINIONS    OF   THE    PRESS. 


SPRINOFI£l.D,  MASS. 

From  the  Springfield  Republican :  "'Argonaut 
Letters,'  by  Jerome  Hart,  is  made  up  from  letters  to 
ihat  excellent  San  Francisco  weekly,  the  Argonaut, 
by  its  editor.  Mr.  Hart  is  a  versatile  and  well- 
informed  man,  and  his  letters  from  abroad,  though 
intended  only  for  newspaper  use,  and  written  with 
no  special  regard  for  literary  style,  being,  in  fact, 
often  dictated  off-hand,  are  full  of  things  that  are 
well  worth  preservation.  .  .  . 

"  Mr.  Hart  is  a  traveler  with  the  journalistic  in- 
stinct. He  knows  offhand  what  will  bore  people, 
and  he  spares  them  long-winded  descriptions  of 
things  that  have  already  been  described  to  death, 
and  does  not  take  his  own  personal  adventures  with 
the  solemnity  of  an  explorer  setting  off  for  the 
heart  of  Africa.  When  he  sees  anything  new  or 
amusing  he  nails  it  forthwith,  and  he  has  a  real yfa»r 
for  restaurants  and  hotels.  On  art  questions  he  is 
not  so  well  versed,  but  he  speaks  confidently  and  en- 
tertainingly for  the  masses  of  intelligent  people  who 
look  at  pictures  and  statues  with  no  training  but  with 
the  best  will  in  the  world.  Mr.  Hart  is  a  heretic  in 
regard  to  Botticelli,  but  it  is  refreshing  to  have  a 
traveler  speak  out  his  mind  courageously  instead  of 
assuming  an  admiration  which  he  does  not  feel.  .  .  . 

"  Like  most  Californians  who  travel,  Mr.  Hart  is 
critical  of  climates.  There  are  unfortunate  countries 
whose  inhabitants  can  look  to  Italy  as  an  improve- 
ment, but  California  is  not  one  of  them.  And  after 
seeing  all  the  exhibits  that  Europe  has  to  offer,  he 
closes  rather  disdainfully  with  the  remark  that  '  More 
and  more  it  becomes  apparent  to  me  that  the  climate 
of  California  spoils  one  for  any  other  in  the  world.' 

"  One  of  the  most  interesting  chapters  is  the  one 
dealing  with  Rome.  Passing  by  the  common 
things,   Mr.  Hart  has  brought  together  a  number 


of  entertaining  odds  and  ends,  such  as  the  most 
superficial  observer  can  gather  if  he  has  a  quick  eye 
and  a  sense  of  humor.  .  .  . 

"  In  a  supplementary  chapter  Mr.  Hart  gives  his 
readers  the  benefit  of  his  wide  knowledge  of  hotels 
and  restaurants  in  many  cities  and  lands.  New 
York  he  thinks,  on  the  whole,  unsurpassed  if  one 
has  the  price.  Neither  London  nor  Paris  has  any- 
thing comparable.  The  hotels  at  American  sum- 
mer and  winter  resorts,  on  the  other  hand,  he  re- 
gards as  high-priced  and  poor.  As  for  the  Florida 
hotels.  '  They  are  expensive  and  pretentious.'  .  .  . 

"  For  Paris  Mr.  Hart  has  not  ...  a  high  ad- 
miration. Many  of  the  restaurants  are  stuffy  and 
unventilated,  and  all  of  the  kitchens  are  in  the  cellar. 
In  London  the  restaurants  are  even  stuffier  and  less 
ventilated,  and  in  many  of  them  the  restaurant  itself 
is  in  the  cellar,  as  well  as  the  kitchen.  .  .  . 

"  There  are  other  chapters  on  Gibraltar,  the  Med- 
iterranean, Egypt,  Pompeii,  Florence,  French  Savoy, 
the  Paris  Exposition,  the  Passion  Play,  and  Switzer- 
land, and  on  each  topic  Mr.  Hart  contrives  to  say 
something  entertaining."  .  .  . 


SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

San  Francisco  Chronicle. — "  One  of  the  most 
readable  books  of  travel  that  have  been  issued  in 
many  a  day  is  '  Argonaut  Letters,'  by  Jerome 
Hart.  It  consists  of  letters  from  abroad,  written  by 
Mr.  Hart  to  his  paper,  the  Argonaut.  They  were 
written,  as  he  says  in  a  brief  preface,  while  on  the 
wing,  and  though  occasionally  scrappy  they  have  the 
great  merit  of  vivid  interest  and  clearness  of  de- 
scription. The  author  made  the  tour  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, obtained  a  glimpse  of  Egypt,  and  then 
spent  the  remainder  of  his  holiday  in  Italy.  He  did 
not  go  beyond  the  beaten  track  of  travel,  but  as  he 


is  a  trained  observer  he  saw  many  things  that  im- 
pressed him,  and  his  comment  is  well  worth  read- 
ing. Especially  in  Italy  the  vice  of  militarism  was 
forced  upon  him  at  every  hand.  .  .  . 

"There  are  supplementary  chapters,  comparing 
the  Chicago  and  Paris  expositions,  *  Of  Eating  and 
Drinking,*  '  The  Passion  Play,'  and  '  The  Thrifty 
Swiss.'  The  book  is  handsomely  printed  and  is 
illustrated  with  half-tones  of  photographs,  which  are 
so  beautifully  executed  and  so  well  selected  that  they 
lend  interest  and  value  to  the  book.  The  publishers 
have  given  the  book  so  handsome  a  dress  that  it  is 
suitable  for  a  holiday  gift." 


BAIiTIMORE,  MD. 

Baltimore  Sun  :  "The  author  of  these  sprightly 
and  entertaining  letters  is  the  editor  of  the  San 
Francisco  Argonaut.  He  traveled  extensively  in 
Europe  and  the  Far  East,  was  a  keen  observer,  and 
wrote  a  series  of  letters  to  the  Argonaut,  in  which 
he  recorded  his  impressions  and  experiences.  The 
book  differs  most  agreeably  from  the  stereotyped 
volume  of  travels.  The  author  assumes  that  the 
reader  knows  something  about  European  cities,  and 
hence  there  are  no  hackneyed  and  wearisome  de- 
scriptions of  places  and  things  with  which  every  in- 
telligent person  should  be  familiar.  The  letters  are 
written  in  an  easy,  piquant  style,  are  witty  and  seri- 
ous by  turns,  and  genuinely  interesting  throughout. 
Mr.  Hart  does  not  claim  any  literary  quality 
for  them,  but  even  if  they  are  not  '  literature,' 
they  are  well  put  together  and  entertaining,  which 
can  not  be  said  of  some  far  more  pretentious 
books  of  travel.  The  letters  make  a  volume  of  five 
hundred  pages,  and  are  printed  in  large  type  on 
heavy  paper.  The  book  is  profusely  illustrated  from 
photographs  made  by  the  author." 


SAN  LUIS  OBISPO,  CAL. 

San  Luis  Obispo  Tribune:  "Once  upon  a  time, 
when  the  world  was  larger  and  it  was  considered 
something  of  an  achievement  to  circle  it,  people 
listened  with  patience  and  sometimes  even  with  in- 
terest to  the  tales  which  the  daring  adventurer 
brought  back  with  him.  Possibly  even  then  a  feel- 
ing of  weariness  was  occasioned.  We  know  that 
for  some  reason  it  was  found  necessary  to  season 
the  dish  with  a  dash  of  the  marvelous  and  incred- 
ible. But  in  these  latter  days,  '  journeyings '  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing  are  relegated  to  the  heavy  end 
of  magazines  where  the  wise  and  wary  '  reader  by 
caption  '  can  conveniently  whisk  the  pages  over  and 
satisfy  his  conscience  with  a  hasty  glance  at  the 
illustrations.     Now  it  is  quite  likely  that  if  our  sur- 


feited readers  should  chance  in  their  prowls  through 
the  bookstores  to  pick  up  an  attractive  -  looking 
volume  labeled  '  Argonaut  Letters,'  and  on  opening 
it  should  discover  that  it  had  to  do  with  travels,  he 
might  as  usual  at  once  replace  it.  He  would  make  a 
bad  mistake.  Mr.  Jerome  A.  Hart,  the  editor  of 
the  Argonaut,  last  year  spent  some  months  in 
Europe.  He  amused  himself  by  jotting  down  his 
impressions,  and  they  were  sent  to  his  journal  and 
added  greatly  to  the  interest  and  pleasure  of  its 
pages.  And  now  he  has  gathered  the  letters  to- 
gether and  put  them  in  book-form,  beautifully  and 
luxuriously  printed,  charmingly  illustrated,  a  de- 
light to  the  hand  and  the  eye.  But  it  is  not  a 
book  of  travels.  It  is  an  incidental  fact  that  the 
writer  is  traveling,  but  the  attention  of  the  reader 
is  only  occasionally  directed  to  something  in  the 
passing  panorama.  Occasionally  there  is  a  bit  of 
vivid  description  as  some  scene  of  unusual  beauty 
or  grandeur  unfolds  itself.  But  that  is  by  way  of 
unconscious  soliloquy.  But  usually  it  is  the  wise 
and  witty,  easily  flowing  comment  that  has  grown 
dear  to  us  in  the  columns.of  the  Argonaut.  It  is  a 
clear-cut  vision  of  fresh  scenes,  through  eyes  that 
are  a  little  tired  perhaps,  something  cynical,  gen- 
erally amused,  and  receiving  impressions  at  an  un- 
usual angle.  Altogether  a  charming  book  in  which 
there  is  no  suggestion  of  dullness,  that  keeps  the 
pleased  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  end." 


CHICAGO,  ILL. 

From  the  Chicago  Tribune :  "  It  is  pleasant  to 
find  a  book  of  travels  whose  writer  has  been  wise 
enough  to  refrain  from  the  liberal  employment  of 
paraphrased  or  directly  quoted  guide-book  informa- 
tion. Such  a  book  is  '  Argonaut  Letters,'  by  Jerome 
Hart.  Mr.  Hart  visited  the  Paris  Exposition  and 
the  Passion  Play  last  summer,  but,  before  doing  so, 
spent  a  brief  time  on  the  Nile,  and  took  a  scamper 
through  Italy  and  Switzerland.  Much  of  this  ter- 
ritory he  had  previously  visited,  and  therefore  was 
spared  the  mistake  common  to  every  beginner- 
tourist,  of  believing  that  what  he  saw  had  never 
been  seen  before,  and  therefore  must  of  necessity  be 
described.  His  letters  are  burdened  with  no  lengthy 
word- pictures,  no  tiresome  historical  data,  and  few 
statistics.  Even  Gibraltar  and  St.  Peter's  are  left  un- 
described,  and  the  tourist-writer  who  can  pass  these 
well- worked  but  ever- fruitful  '  copy  '  producers  by  is 
in  truth  great  among  his  kind.  What  Mr.  Hart  has 
given  in  his  letters  are  the  vivid  impressions  re- 
ceived during  a  pleasant  jaunt  among  historic  places 
and  famous  scenes,  and  as  he  shows  himself  to  be  a 
well-informed,  wide-awake  American,  blessed  with  a 


''S/i/den/s  sea  fed  in  ji^  roups  in  the  Mosque  of  El-Azhar. 


'Sugarcane  vtfuk'rs  near  Cairoy 


healthful  sense  of  humor,  and  a  keen  appreciation  of 
what  is  interesting  and  what  is  not,  his  letters  are 
unusually  readable  and  enjoyable.  .  .  . 

"  Written  originally  for  the  columns  of  the  San 
Francisco  Argonaut,  the  sketches,  Mr.  Hart  states 
in  his  preface,  were  orally  dictated  '  in  the  little 
leisure  that  travel  affords.'  They  complete  a  book 
of  letters  that  is  unusually  pleasant  reading.  The 
volume  is  well  printed  and  contains  a  three  score  of 
full-page  illustrations."  .  .  . 


OAKLAND,  CAI.. 

Oakland  Tribune.—"  Mr.  Jerome  Hart  has  lately 
been  in  '  furrin  parts ' — principally  Egypt.  Italy, 
and  Paris,  which  is  France.  During  his  travels 
abroad  he  wrote  the  results  of  his  observations  in  a 
series  of  dilettante  letters  to  the  Argonaut,  of  which 
he  is  the  editor.  These  epistles  have  now  been  em- 
bodied in  an  attractive  volume,  beautifully  printed 
and  handsomely  illustrated,  under  the  title  of 
'  Argonaut  Letters."  There  is  a  flux  of  works  on 
travel  at  this  time,  but  this  book  of  Mr.  Hart's  is 
really  a  contribution  to  current  literature.  The 
style  is  easy  and  graceful.  While  the  subjects  are 
neither  fresh  nor  original,  they  are  dealt  with  in  an 
entertaining  manner,  and  the  view-point  of  the 
author  is  that  of  a  clever,  observant  critic  of  peoples, 
manners,  and  customs.  Mr.  Hart  presumes  that 
his  readers  know  all  about  the  Pyramids,  the 
donkey-boys  of  Cairo,  the  Pitti  Palace  of  Florence, 
St.  Peter's  and  the  Colosseum  at  Rome,  the  Louvre, 
Grand  Opera  House,  and  Bois  de  Boulogne,  Paris. 
En  passant  he  alludes  to  some  of  these  things,  but 
never  of  them  or  in  description  of  their  hackneyed 
marvels.  He  avoids  statistics  as  a  pestilence.  May 
Allah  bless  him  !  Gradgrind  doing  the  grand  tour 
has  become  a  capital  offense. 

"  Mr.  Hart's  tone  is  politely  cynical,  as  becomes 
a  clubman,  a  good  diner,  and  a  lover  of  polite 
literature.  There  is  a  vein  of  quiet  humor  running 
through  his  comments,  but  it  never  loses  its  well- 
bred  character — never  becomes  hilarious,  nor  is  the 
sparkle  ever  permitted  to  be  obtrusive.  The  comedy 
is  always  elegant — bright  persiflage,  as  it  were,  with 
all  tendency  to  farce  sternly  repressed.  It  is  not  a 
chronicle  of  small  beer,  but  the  intellectual  spread 
is  frequently  frapp6  and  small  game,  as  refined  in 
quality  as  Mr.  Hart's  literary  manner.  7  he  anec- 
dotes are  generally  witty,  all  are  respectable,  and 
some  of  them  ripe  in  years  and  experience.  They 
are  always  apropos  and  well  told,  and  serve  ex- 
cellently as  a  garnishment  for  a  repast  that  smacks 
more  of  rare  duck  than  roast  beef. 

"  A  stickler  for  style  might  find  fault  with  a  some- 


what over  seasoning  in  the  way  of  a  macaroni  ol 
quotations  in  foreign  languages,  but  it  was  a  habit 
to  which  Thackeray  was  much  addicted,  and  evi- 
dently Mr.  Hart  has  followed  him  rather  than  Joseph 
Addison.  Nevertheless  the  book  is  a  most  readable 
one.  While  being  highly  entertaining  to  the  culti- 
vated mind,  it  contains  many  valuable  hints  and 
some  really  sound  information  insinuated  rather 
than  imparted  directly.  There  are  no  dull  pages  in 
it,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal  when  one  remembers 
the  innumerable  caravan  of  literary  journeymen  who 
have  gone  before  Mr.  Hart  in  search  of  things  that 
are  different— better  or  worse — from  the  things  at 
home." 


CINCINNATI,  O. 

Cincinnati  Times-Star:  "The  Argonaut  is  an 
exceptionally  interesting  and  breezy  paper  published 
weekly  in  San  Francisco.  Mr.  Jerome  Hart  sent 
letters  to  it  giving  his  experiences  on  a  trip  around 
the  Mediterranean  through  Italy.  These  letters 
have  now  been  published  in  book-farm.  It  is  a 
timely  publication,  for  just  now  it  is  the  popular 
fad  for  Americans  to  take  the  southern  trip  over  the 
ocean  through  the  Azores,  Gibraltar,  and  the  Medi- 
terranean. The  charm  of  these  sketches  is  that 
they  were  written  during  the  trip,  giving  all  the 
little  incidents  of  actual  experience.  The  volume 
is  handsomely  illustrated." 


SACRAMENTO,  CAI<. 

Sacramento  Record-  Union.  —  "  '  Argonaut  Let- 
ters '  is  the  tide  of  a  fat,  richly  and  profusely  illus- 
trated volume  by  Jerome  Hart,  editor-in-chief  of 
the  San  Francisco  Argonaut.  These  letters  were 
written  to  the  Argonaut  during  Mr.  Hart's  extended 
travels  in  Europe  and  the  Far  East.  Mr,  Hart  him- 
self belittles  them  as  ...  '  merely  newspaper  jot- 
tings '  and  therefore  '  not  literature  because  bound 
in  boards.'  In  that  judgment  we  can  not  concur. 
They  are  more  than  mere  jottings.  We  have  read 
them  as  they  appeared  weekly,  and  are  prepared  to 
class  them  among  the  very  best  works  of  travel 
which  have  come  from  any  press,  and  as  having  a 
still  higher  value  than  mere  description  and  narrative. 
For  they  are  critical,  witty,  assertive,  and  searching, 
and  that,  too,  often  in  directions  few  works  of  travel 
take.  Mr.  Hart  saw  to  the  centre  of  things,  and  his 
record  is  a  constant  comparison  of  civilizations, 
manners,  customs,  preachings,  and  the  lessons  to  be 
learned  from  them.  He  entered  into  fields  where 
few  have  trod,  and  brought  up  to  view  the  ways  and 
manners,  promptings  and  motives,  of  peoples  which 


most  travelers  fail  to  observe,  being  content  with  the 
upper  side  of  what  they  view. 

"Then,  too,  Mr.  Hart's  style  is  admirable.  He 
is  a  word-painter,  a  graphic  delineator,  often  an 
eloquent  writer,  and  always  a  graceful  one.  If  it  is 
true  that  there  is  much  evidence  of  self-sufficiency 
on  his  part,  an  exalted  estimate  of  his  own  judg- 
ment, there  is  compensation  for  it  all  in  the  fact  that 
his  judgments  here  recorded  are  sound,  and  rarely 
too  severe  when  application  of  the  lash  is  called  for, 
while  his  satire  has  the  ring  of  honest  conviction 
and  perfect  fearlessness.  He  applies  the  whip  not 
alone  to  the  backs  of  the  [>eoples  he  visited  but  to 
his  own  countrymen  and  their  institutions  as  well, 
whenever  he  believes  it  to  be  deserved,  and  compar- 
ison invites  opportunity. 

"  It  is  a  book  of  delightful  reading — the  descrip- 
tions are  vivid,  strong,  and  photographic.  We  like 
the  letters  much,  though  their  author,  with  modest 
protest,  insists  that  the  only  reason  for  their  publica 
tion  is  found  in  response  to  the  appeal  of  friends 
who  wish  them  in  permanent  form.  But  did  their 
author  pause  to  consider  that  the  expression  of  such 
a  desire  might  be  for  better  reason  than  to  compli- 
ment and  flatter  him  ;  that  these  friends  found  so 
much  of  meat  in  the  writings  that  their  expression  of 
desire  for  their  presentation  in  book-form  was  hon- 
est tribute  to  their  literary  grace  and  the  strong 
quality  of  rational,  helpful,  instructive  entertain- 
ment ?  " 


CliBVKLAND.  O. 

Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. — "Jerome  Hart's  '  Argo- 
naut Letters '  is  a  handsomely  made  volume,  con- 
taining a  series  of  letters  originally  published  in  the 
San  Francisco  Argonaut,  describing  the  experiences 
and  impressions  of  the  author  during  an  extended 
European  tour.  The  sketches  are  bright  and  in- 
formal.  .  .  .  With  the  exception  of  a  few  unimportant 
excisions  they  remain  as  at  first  issued  in  the  news- 
papers, and  will  afford  pleasant  reading.  There  are 
sixty  full-page  illustrations." 


OAKLAND,  CAL. 

Oakland  Enquirer. — "  In  that  delightful  volume, 
'  Argonaut  Letters,'  Mr.  Hart  succeeds  in  getting 
further  away  from  the  stereotyped  '  book  of  travel ' 
than  any  one  else  we  know  \\ho  has  been  guilty 
of  writing  letters  from  Europe  and  afterwards 
making  a  book  of  them. 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  there  are  many 
things  in  Mr.  Harts  book  which  tend  to  mitigate 
the  offense  he  has  committed.  He  has  omitted  so 
many  things  which  he  might  have  put  in  ;  he  does 
not  describe  any  art-galleries  or  palaces  ;  he  does 


not  have  much  to  say  about  ruins  ;  he  is  silent  con- 
cerning those  personal  incidents  of  travel  which  we 
have  learned  to  look  upon  as  an  inevitable  inflic- 
tion. There  is  hardly  anything  between  the  covers 
of  •  Argonaut  Letters '  which  has  not  the  attraction 
of  novelty  for  one  who  has  not  visited  the  Med- 
iterranean countries.  .  .  .  These  letters  contained 
so  much  which  was  of  genuine  interest  that  there 
was  a  real  demand  for  their  republication.  Hence 
this  book,  which,  by  the  way,  is  one  of  the  most 
successful  examples  of  book-making  that  San  Fran- 
cisco has  to  her  credit.  In  paper,  printing,  and 
illustrations  it  is  as  perfect  a  volume  as  will  be 
issued  anywhere  this  holiday  season.  It  is  so  thor- 
oughly a  California  book  that  it  warms  the  heart  to 
read  it  and  see  how  loyal  to  CaUfornia  a  person 
can  be  when  he  is  abroad  and  enjoying  the  best  that 
Europe  or  Africa  has  to  offer." 


SAN  DIEGO,  CAL. 

San  Diego  Union  :  "  '  Argonaut  Letters '  is  the 
title  of  a  substantial  volume  of  sketches  of  foreign 
travel,  written  by  Jerome  A.  Hart,  editor  of  the 
San  Francisco  Argonaut,  during  a  tour  of  several 
months  in  Southern  Europe  and  Egypt.  In  his 
preface  the  writer  modestly  explains  that  his  work 
was  hastily  done  and  is  '  merely  newspaper  jottings ' 
and  that  '  their  only  merit  is  that  they  are  vivid  im- 
pressions.' But  those  who  read  the  book  will  not 
be  content  with  his  very  modest  estimate.  Few 
books  of  foreign  travel  will  be  found  so  entertaining. 
Mr.  Hart  is  a  keen  observer  and  has  a  singularly 
happy  faculty  of  turning  his  observations  into  word- 
pictures.  The  book  is  a  volume  of  five  hundred 
pages,  printed  on  heavy  paper,  and  has  many  illus- 
trations from  photographs." 


NEW   YORK. 

The  "  Saturday  Review  "  of  the  New  York  Times, 
containing  literary  reviews  and  book  notices,  has 
come  to  be  looked  upon  by  publishers  as  one  of  the 
most  authoritative  of  all  the  literary  journals.  It 
contains  in  its  number  for  January  26th  a  review  of 
"  Argonaut  Letters,"  from  which  the  following  ex- 
tracts are  made  : 

New  York  Times :  "  Few  travelers  of  the  present 
day  write  literature  that  can  be  permanent ;  they  de- 
pend too  much  upon  personal  observation,  which 
while  it  adds  a  vitality  and  freshness  to  their  pages, 
goes  a  short  way  toward  establishing  a  criterion  of 
actuality.  The  old  travelers,  although  less  interest- 
ing perhaps,  wrote  with  more  judgment  and  less  im- 
pression. Yet,  most  of  our  contemporary  globe- 
trotters who  put  pen  to  paper  believe  that  what  they 


»3 


The  mined  Palaces  of  the  Ccesars. 


so  entertainly  set  down  will  in  time  become  serious 
literature.  It  is  a  relief,  therefore,  to  come  upon  an 
observing  tourist  who  entertains  no  delusions  m  re- 
gard to  his  work.  Mr.  Jerome  Hart  writes  in  the 
preface  to  one  of  the  most  fascinating  books  of  for- 
eign travel  and  sojourn  that  we  have  seen  for  some 
time  : 

"  *  No  one  better  than  the  writer  knows  how 
ephemeral  are  these  pages.  No  one  better  than  he 
knows  that  they  are  not  literature  because  they  are 
bound  in  boards.  They  are  merely  newspaper  jot- 
tings of  travel  during  some  pleasant  months  abroad. 
Their  only  right  to  be  is  the  desire  which  many 
readers  have  expressed  to  obtain  them  in  permanent 
form.     To  that  desire  the  writer  has  yielded.' 

"  We  do  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  Mr.  Hart  is 
mistaken,  but  we  certainly  are  in  accord  with  the 
readers  he  mentioned  who  desired  to  have  '  Argo- 
naut Letters  '  '  in  permanent  form.'  We  cheerfully 
subscribe  to  their  good  taste.  Mr.  Hart  saw  much 
that  was  interesting  abroad,  and  he  writes  of  it  as  it 
impressed  him  at  the  moment.  He  writes,  too,  like 
an  American  who  is  judiciously  confident,  and  who 
is  able  to  draw  a  fine  distinction,  not  altogether  free 
from  irony,  between  the  culture  that  is  dying  and 
that  which  is  livmg.  He  has  great  respect  for  the 
monuments  of  the  past,  but  he  pins  his  faith  on 
those  which  will  arise  in  the  future.  His  practical 
way  of  regarding  things  is  everywhere  displayed. 
In  writing  about  the  '  Passion  Play  '  at  Oberam- 
mergau,  he  dispassionately  makes  up  a  list  covering 
several  pages  regarding  what  not  to  write  about, 
then  he  discusses  the  play  in  the  light  of  modern 
histrionic  art,  and  adds  : 

"  '  I  have  already  said  that  actors  can  play  peas- 
ants better  than  peasants  can.  I  will  go  further — 
irreligious  actors  can  play  a  religious  drama  better 
than  religious  peasants  can.     I  saw  the  "Passion 


Play  "  when  it  was  put  upon  the  American  stage  by 
Salmi  Morse  years  ago.  James  O'Neill,  a  good 
actor  and  a  good  Roman  Catholic,  played  the 
Christ.  He  played  the  difficult  role  reverently  and 
well— far  better,  in  my  opinion,  than  any  peasant 
could  —  even  Josef  Mayer.  .  .  .  This  train  of 
thought  suggested  to  me  the  idea :  How  would 
Edwin  Booth  have  played  the  Christus  ?  As  there 
rose  up  before  me  the  recollection  of  his  magnetic 
p>erson,  his  handsome,  haunting  face,  his  melancholy 
eyes,  I  could  not  help  but  think  that  in  his  early 
manhood  no  one  could  have  played  the  Saviour  bet- 
ter than  Edwin  Booth,  player.' 

"  Mr.  Hart  takes  his  readers  through  the  Mediter- 
ranean, to  the  cities  of  Italy,  to  Egypt,  to  Lom- 
bardy,  and  to  Savoy,  and  his  impressions  of  all 
that  he  sees  and  experiences  make  delightful  reading, 
which  is  pleasantly  enhanced  by  many  fine  repro- 
ductions of  photographs  of  unusual  and  interesting 


SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

San  Francisco  Bullettn. — "Jerome  Hart,  the  well- 
known  editor  of  the  Argonaut,  has  had  published, 
through  Payot,  Upham  &  Co.,  a  series  of  letters 
written  by  him  while  abroad.  It  is  a  handsomely 
bound  and  printed  volume,  and  is  well  illustrated. 

"  The  letters  are  bright  and  clever.  There  is  no 
ponderous  effort  to  show  great  learning,  no  long 
disquisitions  into  the  why  and  the  wherefore,  but 
these  letters  are  just  what  they  should  be — chatty 
and  pleasant.  Mr.  Hart  is  a  keen  observer.  His 
long  newspaper  training  has  taught  him  just  what 
to  say,  and  the  result  is  that  the  reader  is  given  very 
entertaining  descriptions.  .  .  .  He  has  a  keen  sense 
of  humor,  and  his  description  of  the  German  group 
of  tourists  is  good.  Mr.  Hart  is  to  be  congratulated 
upon  having  these  letters  put  into  book-form." 


i6 


'•  Turin's  Monument  to  the  Alpine  Engineers. 


ARGONAUT 
LETTERS 


BY 


JEROME    HART 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

PAYOT,    UPHAM    &    COMPANY 

I  9  O  I 


Cofyright  tgoo 
By  the  jirgonaut  Publithing  Company 


THE   MUROOCK   PRESS 


TO 
MY   AMANUENSIS 


89372 


RBPRINTBD  BV  PBRMISSION  FROM 
THE  ARGONAUT  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 


PREFATORY 

No  one  better  than  the  writer  knows  how  ephemeral 
are  these  pages.  No  one  better  than  he  knows  that 
they  are  not  literature  because  they  are  bound  in  boards. 
They  are  merely  newspaper  jottings  of  travel  during 
some  pleasant  months  abroad.  Their  only  right  to  be 
is  the  desire  which  many  readers  have  expressed  to 
obtain  them  in  permanent  form.  To  that  desire  the 
writer  has  yielded. 

A  word  of  explanation  and  apology  may  not  be  amiss 
here.  These  sketches  were  written  in  the  little  leisure 
that  travel  affords  —  sometimes  on  a  steamer,  often  on  a 
train.  Therefore  profound  and  matured  thought  may 
scarcely  be  looked  for  in  them.  They  were  orally  dic- 
tated, hence  their  familiar  and  colloquial  tone.  They 
were  written  with  no  library  at  hand,  and  if  the  writer's 
memory  has  failed  him  at  times,  pray  let  the  reader 
pardon  him.  He  has  thought  it  best  to  leave  the 
sketches  much  as  they  were  written,  with  the  exception 

vii 


PREFATORY 

of  some  unimportant  excisions.  Their  only  merit  is 
that  they  are  vivid  impressions.  If  they  were  too  much 
revised  they  would  lose  that,  and  with  it  their  only 
reason  for  existence. 


viu 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Crossing  the  Pond i 

Gibraltar 12 

Around  the  Mediterranean 20 

A  Glimpse  of  Egypt 44 

Alexandria  to  Naples 70 

Pompeii 91 

A  Roman  Garden-Party 97 

Arms  and  the  Man 106 

A  Roman  Race-Course 115 

The  Grave  of  Romulus 122 

Modern  Pilgrims     127 

A  Volcano's  Thunder 142 

New  Things  in  Old  Rome 152 

Making  Saints  at  St.  Peter's 160 

The  Wheels  of  the  Vatican 181 

S.  P.  Q.  R 197 


CONTENTS 

Florentine  Dilettantes 225 

The  Garden  of  Lombardy 242 

In  French  Savoy 261 

Paris  and  Chicago 283 

Of  Eating  and  Drinking 309 

The  Passion  Play 355 

The  Thrifty  Swiss 382 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Turin's  Monument  to  the  Alpine  Engineers  .   .   .      Frontispiece 

Facing  page 

"The  giant  rock,  Gibraltar** 12 

"Laboriously  lifting  water'* 45 

"On  the  great  river  Nile** 46 

"Mena  House,  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyramids" 49 

"An  Arab  nimbly  climbed  to  the  Sphinx's  face*'    ....  51 

"Students  seated  in  groups  in  the  Mosque  of  El-Azhar"  .  55 

"A  petticoated  Oriental" 60 

"The  crooked  stick  for  a  plow" 63 

"The  famous  alabaster  Mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali"     .   .  65 

"Sugar-cane  venders,  near  Cairo" 66 

"A  street  in  Naples" 80 

"The  House  of  the  Vettii  is  the  largest,  handsomest,  and 

best-preserved  house  in  Pompeii" 91 

"The  ruined  temple  of  Jupiter,  which  had  Vesuvius  for  a 

background" 95 

"From   the   Pincian   Park  to  St.   Peter's,   looking  across 

Rome" 97 

"The  giant  flunkeys,  massive,  impassive" 99 

"In  the  Pincian  Park  were  numbers  of  unique  booths".   .  100 

xi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"There   ran    for   miles   the   arches   of   a    mined    Roman 

aqueduct" 119 

*  The  beautiful  church  of  St.  John  Lateran  *  * 120 

'Outlined  against  the  sky  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella, 

on  the  old  Appian  Way" 122 

* Dead-and-gone  Caesars'  columns  in  the  Forum**  ....  124 
'Where  Romulus* s  grave  was  uncovered,  near  the  Arch 

of  Severus** 130 

'  Fountain-basins  overgrown  with  algae,  in  Villa  Borghese**  1 53 

*  Crumbling  arches  and  bits  of  broken  columns  *  *     ....  154 

'The  gentlemen-drivers  handled  the  ribbons** 158 

'Castle  Sant*  Angelo  and  St.  Peter's  dome,  seen  from  the 

Tiber*' 160 

'The  great  square  in  front  of  St.  Peter's" 163 

'  In  the  quaint  gardens  of  the  Vatican  *  *    .    .   , 185 

'The  stifFest  style  of  landscape  gardening*' 193 

'The  dome  of  St.  Peter* s,  from  the  Vatican  hill**.    .    .    .  195 

'The  gardener  told  us  it  was  the  Leonine  Tower"    .    .   .  196 

*  A  street  and  car-line  run  over  the  Forum  " 1 99 

'The    Piazza    Colonna,    with    the    beaudful   column    of 

Marcus  Aurelius" 200 

'The  ruined  Palaces  of  the  Caesars" 221 

'The  Spanish  Steps  and  Trinita  de  Monti" 222 

'The  Fountain  of  Trevi" 224 

'Florence's  park,  the  Cascine" 226 

'The  little  Italian  golf-caddies" 229 

'The  Palazzo  Vecchio,  on  the  Square  of  the  Signoria**    .  231 

xii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

*Fra  Lippo  Lippi*s  Virgin  and  Child'* 233 

*  Botticelli's  extraordinary  composition,  'Calumny' "     .    .  234 

'Botticelli's  telescopic  lady" 236 

*Ghiberti's  bronze  doors,  in  the  Baptistry,  Florence"  .    .  238 

*A  portrait  of  Queen  Joan" 240 

'The  myriad  marble  pinnacles  of  the  Milan  Cathedral"  .  247 

'  The  colder  Gothic  of  the  north " 248 

'Harvest-time  in  Savoy" 261 

'Chateau  and  Gothic  Sainte-Chapelle,  in  Chambery"  .    .  267 

'The  venerable  Tov«rer  of  the  Archives" 268 

*  A  little  gorge  which,  though  microscopic,  is  very  pretty"  274 
'The  mediaeval  abbey  of  Hautecombe" 277 

*  Even  the  cows  work  in  Savoy  " 278 

'Paris  from  the  Seine" 283 

'The  Porte  Monumentale" 286 

'  Versailles  looks  better  in  photographs  than  in  reality " .    .  295 

'The  Sainte-Chapelle,  in  Paris" 308 

'The  Rigi,  the  oldest  mountain-railway  in  Switzerland"  .  386 

'The  Territet-Glion  railway  up  the  Rochers  de  Naye"   .  389 

'The  famous  Castle  of  Chillon" 390 

*A  railway  to  Chamounix,  at  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc"   .  392 


xni 


I 


Argonaut  Letters 


CROSSING   THE    POND 

TRIFLES  make  up  travel.  A  bad  ocean 
passage  sometimes  spoils  a  European  tour. 
Dismal,  long-continued  rain  often  gives  the  way- 
farer distorted  ideas  of  a  charming  city.  One 
may  pass  by  magnificent  headlands  land-locking 
beautiful  harbors,  and  yet  not  see  them  by  reason 
of  a  dense  fog.  On  a  previous  voyage  I  had 
sailed  by  the  Azores,  but  we  passed  most  of  the 
islands  in  the  night,  and  saw  only  one,  and  it  the 
least  beautiful,  by  day.  Ship-captains  usually 
avoid  the  inter-island  channels,  whose  short, 
choppy  seas  make  most  of  their  passengers  deathly 
seasick. 

But  on  this  cruise  we  passed  the  Azores  by 
day,  under  a  bright  sunlight,  with  a  clear  atmos- 
phere, and  with  a  sea  so  smooth  that  the  captain 
took  his  ship  through  the  inter-island  course. 
Rarely  has  a  ship's  company  been  so  favored. 
The  peak  of  Pico  was  visible  forty  miles  away. 
For  two  years  the  ship's  officers  had  not  seen  it 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

on  account  of  thick  weather,  but  here  to-day- 
it  was  visible  far  ahead  of  us  by  noon,  and  toward 
sunset  it  was  still  visible  far  astern. 

The  first  sight  of  these  islands  is  not  unlike 
that  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  .  Like  them  they 
rise  abruptly  out  of  the  sea  in  mid-ocean.  Like 
them,  too,  they  are  of  volcanic  origin,  and  the 
first  view  of  Fayal  reminds  one  of  Maui,  which  is 
usually  the  first  island  you  pick  up  in  sailing  from 
San  Francisco  to  Honolulu.  But  there  the  resem- 
blance ceases.  The  Azores  are  densely  populated. 
The  island  of  San  Miguel  alone  supports  one 
hundred  thousand  human  beings — about  as  many 
as  there  are  in  the  whole  Hawaiian  group.  And 
all  of  the  Azores  show  signs  of  human  occupancy, 
unlike  the  desolate  cliflFs  of  leper-ridden  Maui. 
Along  the  shore  for  miles  we  saw  villages,  towns, 
and  cities,  with  numerous  monasteries  and  cathe- 
drals plainly  visible,  for  we  steamed  not  far  off 
shore.  In  the  large  cities  like  Horta  and  Ponta 
Delgada,  the  white -walled,  red-tiled  buildings 
rose  like  steps  from  the  seashore  far  up  the  slopes 
behind.  A  long  breakwater  made  a  fine  artificial 
harbor  out  here  in  mid-Atlantic,  behind  which 
ships  reposed  as  safely  as  behind  the  reef  at 
Honolulu.  A  gun  boomed  from  a  fortification 
in   answer  to   our  fluttering  signals.     I   learned 


CROSSING  THE   POND 

that  there  are  thirteen  newspapers  published  in 
this  prosperous  mid-Atlantic  city  of  Ponta  Del- 
gada  and  that  it  has  twenty  thousand  inhabitants. 
And  yet,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  I  never 
before  had  heard  its  name.     Have  you  ? 

Outside  of  the  cities  and  towns,  the  islands  are 
checkerboarded  with  farms  and  vineyards  up  to 
the  barren  zone.  Beyond  this  comes  the  snow- 
line. Looking  from  the  steamer^s  deck,  these 
vineyards  and  farms  are  sharply  defined,  much 
as  such  boundaries  appear  when  viewed  from  a 
captive  balloon.  In  places,  the  mountain  ranges 
run  right  into  the  sea,  and  perpendicular  cliffs 
frown  down  on  the  Atlantic,  over  whose  rocky 
rims  feathery  waterfalls  descend  to  the  ocean. 
Some  of  them  seem  to  be  several  hundred  feet 
high. 

As  we  passed  between  the  islands  of  Fayal  and 
Pico,  between  Pico  and  San  Jorge,  then  by  Ter- 
ceira  and  on  toward  Santa  Maria  and  San  Miguel, 
the  day  had  declined  until  the  sun  was  slowly 
sinking.  Clouds  were  gathering  around  the  is- 
lands— low-lying  clouds.  These  lofty  volcanic 
peaks  serve  as  cloud-arresters  and  probably  cloud- 
condensers  also ;  on  the  open  ocean  I  have  never 
seen  such  brilliant  sunsets  as  near  land.  There 
was  every  kind  of  cloud.     School-book  recollec- 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

tions  of  stratus,  cumulus,  nimbus,  and  cirrus  rose 
before  me  as  I  gazed  upon  them.  And  over  all 
the  gorgeous  cloud-masses  heaped  in  and  upon 
and  around  the  islands  rose  the  lofty  peak  of 
Pico — snow-capped,  cloud-encircled,  piercing  the 
blue  vault  above  the  clouds,  like  Gautier*s 

"  Clochcr  silencieux  montrant  du  doigt  le  ciel." 

And  the  sun  winked  at  us  solemnly,  said  good- 
night, and  bobbed  below  the  horizon.  And  dusk 
and  darkness  began  to  draw  over  the  ocean  like 
a  pall.  And  a  Mittelmeer  steward  appeared  upon 
deck  and  performed  a  solemn  fantasia  on  a  bugle 
—  an  invitation  a  la  sauerkraut.  And  we  all 
went  below  and  ate  beer-and-herring  soup,  eels 
in  jelly,  ge-boiled  schinken  with  ge-baked  pota- 
toes, fried  veal  with  raisin  sauce,  baked  hen  stuffed 
with  liver-sausage  and  prunes,  and  pigeon-wings 
served  with  green  beans  and  stewed  pears  auf  der 
same  plate  mit.  For  lo  you  now,  it  was  on  the 
Mittelmeer  line. 

And  some  of  us  lay  awake  that  night  and 
dreamed  dreams.  And  perhaps  it  was  the  gor- 
geous sunset.    And  perhaps  it  was  the  baked  hen. 

A  very  common  remark  is,  "What  interesting 
people  one  meets  in  traveling  !  "  One  may  per- 
haps be  pardoned  for  differing  from  this  belief 


CROSSING  THE  POND 

The  interesting  people  one  meets  in  traveling  are 
extremely  apt  to  keep  to  themselves.  They  do 
not  wear  their  hearts  upon  their  sleeves.  There- 
fore, if  they  are  interesting,  that  trait  is  kept  for 
their  friends.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fools,  bores, 
and  boors  obtrude  themselves  upon  you.  The 
only  way  to  escape  being  bored  to  death  is  to 
avoid  their  acquaintance.  Then  if  you  yourself 
are  interesting — and  of  course  the  reader  is — the 
fact  remains  concealed. 

But,  seriously,  why  should  one  expect  to  meet 
" interesting  people  while  traveling"  ?  Look  over 
your  list  of  friends  and  acquaintances.  Say  you 
have  a  thousand.  They  are  made  by  a  process 
of  selection.  Your  friends  meet  their  friends  and 
their  friends'  friends,  and  by  a  process  of  winnow- 
ing you  are  made  acquainted  with  people  who 
presumably  will  be  congenial  by  reason  of  nation- 
ality, social  interest,  age,  and  sex.  Yet  out  of  a 
thousand  people  you  know,  how  many  are  "inter- 
esting"? If  you  are  critical,  you  will  find  the 
number  very  small.  Yet  the  list  from  which  you 
draw  your  chosen  names  will  be  a  selected  list. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  people  you  meet  in 
traveling  are  thrown  together  purely  by  accident. 
There  is  no  selection,  no  winnowing.  They  are 
a  hodge-podge — a  human  hash.    They  represent 

5 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

many  nations  and  religions,  all  sorts  of  callings, 
the  three  sexes — men,  women,  and  clergymen — 
every  degree  of  health  from  rude  hobbledehoy- 
hood  to  valetudinarianism.  In  such  a  mass  it  is 
not  the  interesting  but  the  disagreeable  traits  of 
humanity  that  are  most  in  evidence.  Selfishness 
is  so  universal  that  it  is  not  at  all  conspicuous. 
It  takes  aggressive  boorishness  to  make  the  trav- 
eler remarkable.  Such  little  tricks  as  eating  with 
table-knives,  picking  the  teeth  with  forks,  and 
combing  the  whiskers  at  table  with  a  pocket-comb 
are  so  common  as  not  to  excite  remark. 

In  these  days  of  cheap-trippers,  when  Mr.  Cook 
ships  cockneys  through  Italy  and  back  at  ten 
guineas  per  cockney,  one  meets  continually  the 
London  *Arry.  The  English  *Arry  off  his  native 
'eath  attempts  to  delude  the  simple  foreigner  into 
the  belief  that  he  is  an  English  gentleman,  so  he 
wears  a  single  eye-glass,  knickers,  a  deer-stalker 
cap,  and  gives  to  his  breezy  East-End  manner  a 
tinge  of  what  Daudet  calls  "La  Stupide  Morgue 
Anglo-Saxonne."  He  also  imitates  some  of  the 
more  objectionable  traits  of  the  traveling  English 
gentleman,  such  as  smoking  malodorous  briar 
pipes  before  breakfast  in  the  faces  of  semi-seasick 
people,  and  wearing  pajamas  at  unseemly  hours. 
For   be   it  known    that  on  the   P.  &  O.  boats 

6 


CROSSING  THE  POND 

between  England  and  India — where  'Arry  rarely 
goes — a  rule  had  to  be  posted  forbidding  the 
wearing  of  pajamas  on  deck  between  8  a.m.  and 

8    P.M. 

As  for  smoking  in  the  faces  of  seasick  people, 
that  habit  does  not  seem  to  be  peculiar  to  the 
London  'Arry.  The  average  man  who  is  not 
seasick  is  so  proud  of  the  fact  that  he  usually  eats 
himself  into  a  torpor  and  smokes  himself  into  a 
coma  to  advertise  the  fact.  I  have  seen  a  man  sit 
down  on  deck  beside  his  seasick  wife,  blow  clouds 
from  a  strong  cigar  into  her  face,  and  chuckle  glee- 
fully as  the  poor  creature  gagged  and  fled  to  the 
rail.  I  never  was  seasick,  but  the  sight  of  those 
who  are  has  always  excited  my  sympathy — par- 
ticularly for  the  ladies.  For  when  lovely  woman 
ceases  to  care  how  she  looks,  she  is  pretty  sick. 
And  I  do  not  mean  "iH"-^I  mean  sick.  This 
remark  is  due  to  hearing  a  super-aesthetic  young 
woman  on  deck  say  that  her  father  "  had  just  got 
up  off  his  ///  bed." 

Among  the  curios  at  sea  are  the  seasick  men 
who  wear  yachting-caps.  Why  is  it  that  they  do 
this  thing .f^  If  a  man  is  intent  upon  being  sea- 
sick, let  him  be  seasick  in  landsman's  garb.  On 
this  ship,  the  first  day  out,  the  smoking-room  was 
fairly  filled  with  the  presence  of  an  efflorescent 

7 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

German  tar.  He  wore  a  double-breasted,  navy- 
blue  reefer  jacket,  yachting  trousers  with  stripes, 
and  a  gorgeous  brass-bound  R.  Y.  S.  pattern 
yachting-cap.  He  walked  with  a  sea-roll,  he 
smoked  many  cigars,  he  shut  one  eye  when  he 
looked  off  to  windward.  Many  passengers  took 
him  for  the  captain.  Even  old  travelers  believed 
that  he  was  at  least  somebody's  courier. 

But  it  came  on  to  blow  that  night,  and  the  sea 
got  rough.  When  we  were  leaving  the  smoking- 
room  to  go  below  and  turn  in,  some  one  heard  a 
queer  sound  from  under  one  of  the  sofas.  The 
steward  was  ordered  to  investigate,  and  from 
under  the  seat  he  rolled  forth,  disheveled,  groan- 
ing, and  seasick,  the  gorgeous  brass-bound  Ger- 
man tar. 

The  stewards  know  the  weaknesses  of  these 
seasick  swells,  and  doubtless  bleed  them  heavily 
for  their  shamming.  The  stewards  get  to  be  good 
judges  of  human  nature.  They  ought  to.  Their 
functions  are  multifarious.  For  example,  on  this 
Mittelmeer  line  there  is  a  band  of  ten  pieces 
which  discourses  tunes  full  sweetly  during  lunch- 
eon and  dinner,  on  entering  and  leaving  port,  and 
at  various  other  times  and  hours.  Some  of  them 
untimely  hours,  for  on  Sundays  they  play  lugu- 
brious hymn-tunes  early  in  the  morning.     This 

8 


CROSSING  THE   POND 

may  be  intended  to  put  passengers  into  a  pious 
frame  of  mind,  but  I  fear  that  it  may  have  an 
effect  directly  the  reverse.  For  a  man  who  is 
wakened  from  a  sound  sleep  at  7  a.  m.  by  the 
strains  of  "Luther's  Hymn"  is  generally  inclined 
toward  profanity  rather  than  prayer. 

The  protean  duties  of  the  stewards  at  times 
startle  one. '  As  the  band  plays  "  The  Star-Span- 
gled Banner/*  you  recognize  with  surprise  in  the 
countenance  of  the  uniformed  leader  the  face  of 
your  male  chambermaid.  And  the  next  day,  at 
the  call  which  summons  the  band  "  to  quarters," 
you  see  a  humble  servitor  in  the  smoking-room 
suddenly  drop  a  half-cleaned  spittoon  and  disap- 
pear, presently  to  emerge  from  the  companion- 
way  covered  with  brass  buttons  and  bearing 
triangles,  cymbals,  and  a  large  bass-drum. 

Apropos  of  these  musicians,  the  little  German 
band  is  in  some  respects  a  nuisance.  The  poor 
devils  are  hired  by  the  North-German  Lloyd 
Company  at  starvation  wages  as  stewards,  and 
are  warned  that  they  must  look  to  the  passengers 
for  remuneration  for  their  music.  As  it  is,  all 
of  the  servants  on  these  German  ships  get  very 
meagre  pay,  but  the  band  thus  does  double  duty. 
The  steamship  company  practically  compels  its 
passengers  to  pay  its  poorly  paid  servants'  wages. 

9 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

The  time-honored  tip  of  ten  marks  (^2.40)  to 
table  steward,  state-room  steward,  stewardess, 
and  almost  half  a  score  of  servants,  is  practically- 
obligatory.  But  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  the 
musicians  start  a  subscription-list  for  their  music, 
with  which  they  pertinaciously  pursue  the  pas- 
sengers. 

Most  of  the  passengers  subscribe.  They  ought 
not  to  do  so.  They  have  already  paid  the  insuffi- 
ciently paid  musicians  their  tips  as  stewards.  Their 
functions  as  musicians  take  them  away  from  their 
duties  as  stewards.  A  passenger  whose  male 
chambermaid  is  playing  the  trombone  on  deck 
may  fruitlessly  ring  his  bell  for  half  an  hour. 
Thus  he  is  forced  to  pay  a  steward  for  producing 
music  for  which  he  may  not  care,  during  a  time 
when  he  needs  him  for  other  duties  for  which  he 
does  care,  and  for  which  he  also  has  to  pay.  Thus 
he  has  to  pay  the  North-German  Company  for 
passage  and  service ;  he  has  to  pay  the  North- 
German  Company's  servants  over  again  for  their 
service ;  then  he  has  to  pay  the  North-German 
Company's  servants  a  third  time  for  a  musical 
service  which  he  may  not  want.  This  last  strikes 
me  as  a  petty  swindle.  » 

The  North-German  Lloyd  Company  advertises 
boastfully  that  it  is  the  only  steamship  company 

10 


CROSSING  THE   POND 

carrying  a  band  of  musicians.  Since  it  makes  a 
feature  of  this  fact,  I  advise  that  skinflint  corpo- 
ration to  stop  mulcting  its  passengers  for  the 
stipends  of  these  poor  musicians,  and  to  pay  its 
musical  scullions  itself. 


II 


GIBRALTAR 

T  TE  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  attempt 
^  •■'  to  describe  Gibraltar.  Probably  no  place  has 
been  so  written  to  death.  Seminary  girls  on  the 
long  vacation,  clergymen  traveling  to  the  Holy 
Land  for  homiletic  raw  material,  syndicate  corre- 
spondents for  the  Sunday  newspapers — have  not 
all  these  described  Gibraltar  ad  nauseam?  The 
derivation  of  the  name,  the  invasion  by  the  Moors, 
Gibel-Tarik,  British  nickname  "Gib,"  the  "rock- 
scorpions,"  the  history  of  its  sieges,  British  valor 
and  Spanish  courage,  the  heroic  garrisons,  the 
final  British  occupancy — who  has  not  read  of  and 
shied  at  these  things?  The  experienced  reader 
when  he  sees  the  very  name  Gibraltar  makes  a 
giant  skip  over  the  giant  rock  and  turns  the  page 
in  terror. 

I  am  not  going  to  describe  Gibraltar.  I  am 
too  considerate.  The  fact  that  once  before  I 
visited  it,  examined  it  conscientiously,  looked  at 
the  big  guns,  went  into  some  of  the  rock-hewn 

12 


XTNIVERSITY 

GIBRALTAR  ^^aSsESB^^ 

galleries,  wandered  over  the  Gardens  of  the  Ala- 
meda, sauntered  through  the  queer  and  crooked 
streets,  tried  to  drive  bargains  in  bad  Spanish  with 
boatmen  and  cigar-dealers — in  short,  did  the  con- 
ventional Gibraltar  act  and  ever  after  held  my 
peace,  shows  that  I  have  a  regard  for  my  readers. 
They  will  bear  witness  that  never  have  I  babbled 
of  Gibraltar. 

But  on  a  recent  visit  there  I  saw  the  rock  by 
moonlight.  The  effect  was  so  picturesque  and  so 
striking  that  I  feel  impelled  to  jot  down  a  few  of 
my  impressions,  and  I  pray  that  I  may  be  par- 
doned. 

But,  before  speaking  of  the  Rock  itself,  let  me 
tell  of  the  tide  of  traffic  which  pours  through 
the  great  gateway  which  it  guards.  During  the 
Valkyrie  race-year,  a  party  of  us  sailed  from  Hell 
Gate  around  Long  Island  in  a  yacht,  and  as  we 
came  in  from  the  ocean  by  Sandy  Hook  we  met 
a  line  of  ocean  steamers  outward-bound.  It  was 
Saturday,  hence  the  number  was  large.  They 
were  feeling  their  way  for  the  channel,  as  the  tide 
was  low.  I  never  knew  before  what  a  number  of 
ocean  steamers  sailed  out  of  the  port  of  New 
York.  Not  only  the  big  European  liners,  but 
numbers  of  steamers  for  Charleston,  Savannah, 
New    Orleans,    Galveston,    Tampa,    Key  West, 

13 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Havana,  Santiago,  Puerto  Rico,  Nassau,  and 
Central  and  South  America  passed  us,  all  named 
to  us  by  our  veteran  sailing-master.  This  marine 
procession  surprised  me.  I  knew  that  the  ocean 
commerce  of  our  greatest  city  was  vast.  That  is, 
I  knew  it  printed  on  paper.  But  until  I  saw  it 
written  on  the  ocean  by  the  prows  of  the  great 
steel  steamers,  I  did  not  know  how  vast  it  was. 

Correspondingly  I  knew  that  from  the  Rock 
at  Gibraltar,  Great  Britain  pointed  warning  guns 
across  the  pathway  of  the  world's  commerce. 
But  how  great  that  commerce  was  I  did  not  know 
until  I  had  sailed  through  the  straits.  The  first 
time  I  sailed  there  the  weather  was  thick,  and  I 
could  see  nothing.  This  time  the  day  was  clear 
and  the  water  was  dotted  with  steamships.  I 
make  no  mention  of  the  innumerable  brigs,  brig- 
antines,  barkentines,  schooners,  feluccas,  and  other 
sailing-craft  we  saw,  but  I  give  the  signal  officer's 
list  of  the  steamers  that  we  met  between  three 
o'clock  and  evening  gun-fire  at  Gibraltar: 

Norwegian  steamer  Leif,  British  steamer  St.  Jerome, 

Swedish  steamer  Norge,  Norwegian  steamerUnique, 

Danish  steamer  Perwie,  British  steamer  Morna, 

British  steamer  Bolderaa,  U.  S.  training-ship  Dixie, 

British  steamer  Fifeshire,  Norwegian  steamer  Ino, 

British  steamer  Aleppo,  French  steamer  Meurthe, 

14 


GIBRALTAR 

British  steamer   Kate    B.  British  steamer  Starlight, 

Jones,  Spanish  steamer  Cecilia, 

British  steamer  Garnet,  British  steamer  Cadiz, 

British  steamer  Diamond,  German  steamer  Trave, 

British  steamer  Valencia,  R.  Y.  S.  steam-yacht  Vagus, 

German  steamer  Kronos,  British  steamer  Gibel-Tarik. 

The  list  is  interesting  for  more  reasons  than 
one:  the  preponderance  of  British  steamers,  the 
utter  absence  of  American  merchant  steamers, 
and  the  fact  that  only  one  Spanish  steamer  sailed 
through  this  sometime  Spanish  strait. 

But  I  was  talking  of  Gibraltar  Rock  by  moonlight 
and  not  of  Gibraltar  Straits  by  day.  Naturally 
we  drove,  for  in  the  winding,  shadowy  lanes  we 
would  otherwise  infallibly  have  lost  our  way. 
Among  the  queer  street-names  some  smack  of 
ecclesiasticism,  like  "Cloister  Ramp,"  or  the 
"Convent  Square"  on  which  stands  the  gover- 
nor's residence,  which  is  "  The  Convent."  But 
most  of  the  names  smell  of  villainous  saltpetre, 
such  as  "Casemate  Square,"  "Cannon  Lane," 
"Gunner's  Lane,"  "Engineer's  Lane,"  "Corn- 
wall's Parade,"  and  "Governor's  Parade,"  while 
others  have  personal  or  historical  associations, 
such  as  "Prince  Edward's  Road,''  "Roger's 
Ramp,"  and  "Turnbull's  Lane."  There  is  a 
faint  trace  of  the  Moorish  regime  in  "  Ben  Zim- 

15 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

bra's  Lane"  and  "Abecasis  Passage,"  but  the 
Spanish  names  have  disappeared.  None  the  less, 
the  Spanish  population  have  names  of  their  own 
for  the  streets,  and  "  King's  Yard  Lane"  by  them 
is  called  "Callejon  de  la  Paloma,"  "The  Little 
Street  of  the  Dove." 

Through  the  Little  Street  of  the  Dove,  then, 
through  Gunner's  Lanes  and  Devil's  Gaps  and 
Casemate  Squares  we  whirled  along  over  the  wind- 
ing roads,  of  which  roadway,  gutter,  and  parapet 
were  all  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock.  On  through 
the  beautiful  gardens  over  which  the  black  shadow 
of  the  Rock  hung,  projected  by  the  early-risen 
moon.  Through  this  black  shadow  there  shot  at 
times  long,  luminous  tunnels.  They  were  flashes 
from  the  search-light  of  a  British  battle-ship  on 
the  bay  below.  Around  her  were  moored  scores 
of  vessels  with  their  riding-lights — many  of  them 
only  coal-hulks,  it  is  true,  but  even  a  coal-hulk  is 
silvered  by  the  moonlight.  Through  the  white 
lights  of  the  black  hulks  there  threaded  their 
winding  way  the  red  and  green  sidelights  of 
tenders  and  tow-boats.  To  the  left  gleamed  the 
lights  of  the  Spanish  town  of  Algeciras  across  the 
bay.  Along  the  narrow  neck  of  land  that  links 
the  Rock  with  Spain  there  twinkled  lights  here 
and    there  up   to   and   beyond   the  point  where 

i6 


GIBRALTAR 

English  and  Spanish  sentries  pace  up  and  down 
on  either  side  of  the  neutral  zone. 

Back  from  the  moonlit  Alameda  Gardens,  under 
the  ancient  stone  gates,  out  of  the  black  shadow 
of  the  Rock  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  town  below, 
we  rattled  along.  Through  the  narrow  streets, 
crowded  with  British  red-coats  and  blue-jackets, 
soldiers  and  sailors,  Highlanders  and  fusiliers, 
our  charioteer  threaded  his  way.  Soon  we  were 
crossing  a  parade-ground,  and  toward  us  there 
came  a  strange  procession.  Borne  by  four  stal- 
wart comrades  in  arms,  two  at  his  head  and  two 
at  his  feet,  came  the  body  of  a  British  soldier. 
On  his  broad  chest  reposed  his  little  "swagger- 
stick"  and  his  jaunty  cap.  The  four  body-bearers 
stepped  out  with  long,  swinging  stride,  while 
another  soldier  walked  by  their  side,  half-dragging, 
half-bearing  a  weeping  woman.  What  could  it 
be  ?  Was  it  a  drill  in  care  of  the  wounded  ?  But 
if  so,  why  the  weeping  woman  ?  As  they  neared 
us  the  mystery  was  cleared.  The  horizontal 
Thomas  Atkins  was  in  a  condition  of  torpid 
intoxication,  while  the  perpendicular  Thomases 
were  carrying  him  home — perhaps  to  avoid  the 
guard-house,  perhaps  to  put  him  there. 

I  am  afraid  that  in  my  recollections  of  Gib- 
raltar by  moonlight  I  shall  always  think  of 
c  17 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

poor  Tommy  and  his  bedraggled  Dulcinea  del 
Toboso. 

Rounding  the  Rock  into  the  straits  again 
the  moonlight  fell  on  its  black  face,  if  that  be 
face  which  looks  toward  the  sea.  From  the  face 
of  the  Rock  there  has  fallen  in  the  course  of  ages 
vast  masses  of  debris — geologists  call  it  "talus," 
I  believe — heaped  up  to  a  height  of  seven  or 
eight  hundred  feet.  Visitors  to  the  Yosemite 
Valley  will  recall  similar  masses  heaped  up  at  the 
base  of  cliffs  like  El  Capitan.  A  lady  stood 
beside  us  on  the  steamer^s  deck  gazing  silently  at 
the  mighty  Rock  bathed  in  the  moonlight.  She 
had  withdrawn  from  the  ordinary  mob  of  passen- 
gers who  were  cracking  side-splitting  jokes  over 
the  absence  of  insurance  advertisements  on  Gib- 
raltar. The  wit  of  one  young  gentleman,  who 
kept  saying  "Insure  your  life  here,"  was  much 
admired.  I  mentally  approved  of  her  withdrawal 
from  this  mob  of  vacuous  globe-trotters,  whose 
loud  laughter  bespoke  their  vacant  minds,  when 
she  suddenly  turned  and  spoke : 

"What  an  awful  lot  of  work  it  must  have  been 
to  cart  that  rubbish  up  there  !" 

I  politely  inquired  her  meaning.  When  I 
discovered  it,  I  was  amazed.  She  believed  that 
the  town  of  Gibraltar  used  the  Rock  as  a  dump, 

i8 


GIBRALTAR 

and  that  the  city's  rubbish  was  thence  shot  into 
the  sea. 

I  gazed  at  her  in  wonder.  Here  was  an  intelli- 
gent human  being  who  believed  that  other  intel- 
ligent human  beings  would  haul  rubbish  from 
sea-level  to  the  top  of  a  rock  fourteen  hundred 
feet  in  the  air,  in  order  to  dump  it  into  the  sea. 

Verily,  the  mystery  of  the  human  mind  passeth 
understanding. 


19 


AROUND  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

/^N  the  map  the  distance  from  Gibraltar 
^^  to  Genoa  seems  but  a  trifle,  yet  it  is  a 
thousand  miles  as  the  crow  flies.  After  leaving 
Gibraltar  we  steamed  all  night  along  the 
Spanish  coast,  past  Malaga,  Carthagena,  and 
Alicante,  and  by  noon  had  only  breasted  the 
Balearic  Islands.  We  passed  Majorca,  the  island 
where  General  Weyler,  of  Cuban  infamy,  has 
his  estate.  And  it  was  while  sailing  between 
the  Balearic  Islands  and  Barcelona  that  most  of 
the  passengers  lost  faith  in  the  placid  Mediter- 
ranean. 

Though  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  had 
not  been  rough,  still  many  were  seasick.  But 
every  one  had  great  expectations  of  the  Medi- 
terranean. You  heard  much  of  "  placid  summer 
seas,''  "cloudless  summer  skies,"  and  "ideal  Med- 
iterranean sailing."  But  these  optimists  were 
doomed  to  disappointment.  Somewhere  off  Bar- 
celona we  picked  up  a  stifle  northeaster.     From 


AROUND    THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

there  on,  all  the  way  across  the  Gulf  of  Lyons, 
the  ship  labored  heavily  against  a  head  wind  and 
sea.  She  pitched,  tossed,  and  rolled,  all  three. 
This  combination  of  motions  proved  too  much 
for  many  whose  stomachs  had  defied  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  The  dining-saloon  was  almost  empty 
at  luncheon  and  dinner,  and  the  smoking-room 
was  deserted.  The  short,  choppy  seas  of  the 
Mediterranean  upset  many  a  hardened  smoker. 
Probably  three-fourths  of  the  passengers  were 
seasick  while  crossing  the  Gulf  of  Lyons.  The 
placid  Mediterranean  is  by  no  means  always  a 
summer  sea.  Old  travelers  testify  that  they  have 
experienced  some  very  nasty  weather  on  this 
"tideless,  dolorous,  midland  sea." 

Yet,  although  I  heard  my  fellow-passengers 
speak  of  this  experience  more  than  once  as  "an 
awful  storm,"  it  was  only  what  sailors  term  "half 
a  gale  of  wind." 

It  was  the  morning  after  we  crossed  the  turbu- 
lent Gulf  of  Lyons  that  we  first  sighted  the 
Riviera.  I  use  the  term  as  it  is  ordinarily  applied 
— for  riviera  means  nothing  but  "coast."  The 
Italians  divide  their  Riviera  into  two  parts — 
for  the  French  Riviera  was  once  Italian.  The 
stretch  of  coast  extending  from  Genoa  to  Leg- 
horn   they    call    the    "Riviera   di    Levante,"    or 

21 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Eastern  Riviera.  That  from  Genoa  to  Nice, 
the  "Riviera  di  Ponente/'  or  Western  Riviera. 
Nice  is  still  so  Italian  that  you  more  frequently 
hear  it  called  Nizza  than  Nice,  except  by  for- 
eigners. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  that 
we  sighted  Nice,  and  from  there  on,  all  the  way 
to  Genoa,  a  magnificent  panorama  unrolled  itself 
before  our  eyes.  The  steamer  sailed  quite  close 
inshore,  and  the  buildings  could  be  plainly  dis- 
cerned with  the  naked  eye.  With  a  good  glass, 
of  course,  much  more  could  be  seen.  The  Ital- 
ian Riviera  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots 
upon  the  earth,  and  to  be  viewed  to  the  best 
advantage  it  should  be  seen  from  the  sea.  I  had 
already  been  along  the  Riviera,  stopping  at  vari- 
ous points  from  Pisa  to  Nice,  but  I  had  never 
seen  it  in  all  its  beauty  until  now.  Then  I  trav- 
eled by  rail.  The  railway  runs  around  the  rocky 
shore,  piercing  the  headlands  with  many  tunnels. 
Between  Genoa  and  Nice,  for  example,  there  are 
something  like  a  hundred  tunnels,  and  the  ride 
has  been  not  inaptly  likened  to  traveling  through 
a  flute  and  looking  out  of  the  stops.  Then  it 
must  be  confessed  that  many  of  the  Riviera 
villages — and  villagers — are  very  dirty.  Most 
people  who  stop  at  the  small  villages  carry  insect 


AROUND   THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

powder.  But  seen  from  a  steamer's  deck,  sailing 
offshore,  you  do  not  see  the  dirty  villagers  nor 
the  dirt.  You  see  only  the  white  buildings,  with 
their  red-tiled  roofs  rising  in  terraces  from  the 
water's  edge,  set  in  a  background  of  green  foliage. 
You  see  innumerable  rocky  headlands  jutting  out 
into  the  sea,  sometimes  covered  with  villas  and 
gardens,  and  sometimes  crowned  with  old  Roman 
ruins.  You  see  watch-turrets  and  signal-towers, 
significant  of  the  days  when  Moorish  pirates 
harassed  the  Christians'  coasts.  You  see  little 
toy  railway  trains  winding  around  the  cliffs,  now 
and  then  disappearing  into  tunnels,  to  reappear 
further  on,  heralded  by  white  puffs  of  steam. 
You  see  little  villages  clinging  like  birds'-nests  to 
cliffs  far  up  on  the  mountain  side,  where  in  the  old 
days  they  were  more  secure  from  the  pirates'  for- 
ays. You  see  the  Ligurian  Alps  running  abruptly 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  as  if  striving  to  push 
the  dwellers  into  the  sea.  And  behind  them  you 
see  the  higher  Alps,  at  this  season  still  covered 
with  snow. 

For  hours  this  enchanting  panorama  floated 
by.  It  began  with  Nice.  Then  came  the  city 
of  Monaco  and  the  rock  of  Monte  Carlo,  named 
after  that  Monegasque  prince,  Charles,  of  the 
ancient   House  of  Grimaldi,  who   first  sold  his 

23 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

royal  birthright  to  a  gang  of  gamblers.  Is  it  not 
a  bitter  sarcasm  on  royalty  that  the  House  of 
Grimaldi  is  to-day  Europe's  oldest  reigning  dy- 
nasty, and  that  it  is  getting  its  board  and  clothes 
from  the  dirty  money  of  a  gambling-hell  ? 

Everybody  on  deck  had  heard  of  Monte  Carlo. 
Succeeding  names,  like  Villafranca  and  Ventimi- 
glia,  fell  unfamiliarly  upon  their  ears.  But  they 
all  knew  of  the  gambling-den. 

When  we  were  passing  San  Remo  a  semi- 
seasick  woman  in  the  green  and  blue  stages  of 
recovery  was  brought  up  on  deck  by  an  enthusi- 
astic husband  to  gaze  at  the  beautiful  shore-line. 
Her  first  question  was : 

"Where  is  Monte  Carlo  ? '' 

Her  husband's  countenance  fell,  and  he  was 
forced  to  admit  that  it  was  many  miles  astern. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me  when  we  were 
passing  it?"  demanded  the  lady,  rather  tartly. 

"You  were  asleep,  my  dear,  and  I  did  not 
want  to  wake  you  so  early,"  replied  the  husband, 
in  a  propitiatory  tone. 

"And  did  you  wake  me  up  to  see  this?'' 
demanded  the  lady  in  withering  tones,  waving  her 
hand  at  the  prospect  before  her — a  bird's-eye 
view  of  blue  sea  and  rugged  coast-line,  with  a 
line  of  snow-white  breakers  at  its  base,  with  cliffs 

24 


AROUND   THE   MEDITERRANEAN 

crowned  with  castles  and  villas  and  gardens,  and 
behind  them  Alps  rising  on  Alps  to  the  snow-line. 
"Did  you  bring  me  on  deck  to  see  this?  I 
wanted  to  see  Monte  Carlo."  And  she  went 
below. 

A  clear,  calm,  logical  frame  of  mind  is  not  to 
be  looked  for  in  a  semi-seasick  lady,  but  I  think 
that  this  one  should  be  sentenced  to  hard  living 
for  life  at  Kankakee. 

During  the  few  hours'  run  from  Nice  to  Genoa 
we  passed  over  two-score  towns,  cities,  and  vil- 
lages. One  of  them,  Villafranca,  is  the  Mediter- 
ranean station  of  the  United  States  navy,  and 
there  you  may  always  see  our  beautiful  flag, 
whose  appearance  is  so  infrequent  in  European 
waters  that  it  does  your  heart  good  to  see  it  there. 
You  pass,  too,  Ventimiglia,  the  frontier  station 
between  France  and  Italy.  Next  come  Bordi- 
ghera  and  San  Remo.  It  was  here  that  Queen 
Victoria  had  intended  to  spend  the  spring  of  1900. 
But  the  Italian  ministers  were  regretfully  obliged 
to  warn  her  that  so  strong  was  the  anarchistic 
spirit  in  Italy  that  they  could  not  be  responsible 
for  her  safety.  The  attempted  assassination  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  murder  of  King 
Humbert  showed  the  prudence  of  the  Italian 
ministers. 

25 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

From  this  point  the  towns  on  the  Italian  Rivi- 
era are  not  so  well  known  to  tourists,  but  they  are 
just  as  beautiful,  seen  from  the  steamer's  deck. 
Past  Porto  Maurizio,  Oneglia,  and  Savona  we 
sailed,  and  at  last  we  swept  around  the  Pharos  at 
the  end  of  Genoa's  "Molo  Nuovo,"  the  new 
breakwater  which  was  a  little  twenty-million  pres- 
ent given  to  her  city  by  the  generous  Duchess  of 
Galliera.  And  at  the  end  of  our  Riviera  pano- 
rama there  lay  before  us  on  her  semicircling  hills, 
crowned  with  her  many  palaces  of  red  and  white 
and  black  marbles,  "Genoa  la  Superba." 


The  Latin  races  have  always  been  notable  for 
their  outward  veneration  of  the  dead.  Any  one 
who  has  ever  been  in  a  Latin  country  on  the 
"Day  of  the  Dead"— it  is  All  Saint's  Day,  I  be- 
lieve—  must  have  been  struck  by  this  Latin  trait. 
It  is  not  so  distinguishing  a  feature  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race.  Every  now  and  again  there  is  an 
outcry  in  our  journals  over  some  neglected  grave. 
Some  years  ago,  in  New  York,  a  little  down-town 
cemetery,  in  the  center  of  a  block  surrounded  by 
buildings,  was  about  to  be  built  upon.  Many 
of  the  tombs  were  handsome  ones,  and  the  more 
recent  of  them  were  only  thirty  years  old.     The 

26 


AROUND    THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

owners  of  the  ground  advertised  for  surviving 
relatives  to  claim  the  remains  if  they  so  desired. 
Not  a  human  being  came  forward,  and  the  remains 
were  buried  in  the  potter's  field.  I  do  not  think 
this  could  happen  in  a  Latin  country. 

Italy  is  particularly  famous  for  its  burial- 
grounds.  "Campo  Santo"  is  the  term  usually 
applied  to  the  cemetery.  Compare  our  Saxon 
phrase  "God's  Acre."  Each  of  the  large  Italian 
cities  possesses  an  interesting  Campo  Santo,  but 
that  of  Genoa  is  the  largest  and  most  interesting. 
Perhaps  the  most  curious  is  the  potter's  field  at 
Naples,  where  there  are  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
six  pits,  one  for  each  day  in  the  year  and  one  for 
leap  year.  Into  these  dated  pits  dead  paupers' 
bodies  are  daily  dumped.  Quicklime  is  then 
thrown  into  the  pit,  and  it  remains  sealed  up  for 
another  year,  when  it  is  used  again. 

But  the  quadrangle  in  Genoa's  Campo  Santo  is 
the  last  abode  of  Dives  rather  than  of  Lazarus. 
A  poor  man  could  not  aflTord  to  be  buried  there. 
From  an  inspection  of  the  tombs,  I  judge  that 
either  there  must  be  no  poor  people  in  Genoa,  or 
that  when  poor  people  die  they  migrate  to  some 
cheaper  place  to  be  buried.  For  a  dead  man  in 
Genoa  who  does  not  possess  a  costly  marble 
mausoleum    is    nobody    at   all.     He    is    socially 

27 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

impossible  in   the   Realm   of  Shades.     No   self- 
respecting  ghost  could  afford  to  know  him. 

The  Campo  Santo  is  situated  on  the  range  of 
hills  encircling  Genoa — a  spur  of  the  Apennines. 
About  half-way  up  the  hill-slope  is  an  enormous 
building,  with  marble  terraces  and  a  succession 
of  marble  staircases  running  to  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  This  building  is  constructed  entirely  of 
marble — walls,  floors,  columns,  terraces,  and  stair- 
cases. It  is  a  massive  structure,  of  a  gloomy  order 
of  architecture,  and  its  many  long  corridors  are 
filled  with  the  remains  of  the  Genoese,  filed  away 
in  niches  like  pigeon-holes.  Some  have  only  mar- 
ble tablets  let  into  the  walls  and  floor,  on  which 
are  emblazoned  the  name  and  virtues  of  the  occu- 
pant. Others  have  elaborate  basso  and  alto- 
relievos  and  groups. 

At  the  foot  of  this  hill  is  another  enormous 
structure  with  a  funereal  facade  and  peristyle, 
which  precede  a  vast  oblong  quadrangle,  the  inner 
side  of  which  is  a  cloister,  or  colonnade,  many  hun- 
dreds of  feet  in  length.  Around  both  sides  of  this 
colonnade  are  tombs.  There  are  marble  memo- 
rials on  the  inner  aspect  of  each  pillar  of  the 
colonnade.  On  the  opposing  face  the  tombs  are 
continuous.  It  is  a  solid  wall  of  marble  tombs, 
several  thousand  yards  in  length. 

28 


AROUND    THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

Without  seeing  them,  one  could  scarcely  credit 
the  existence  of  such  strange  devices  as  are  here 
visible.  The  collection  is  not  notable  from  an 
art  standpoint,  but  merely  as  a  curiosity.  Most 
of  the  work  seems  to  have  been  done  by  clever 
marble-cutters  rather  than  by  artists.  Their  prin- 
cipal aim  has  been  to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the 
sorrowing  family,  and  the  result  is  sometimes 
grewsome,  sometimes  ludicrous,  and  sometimes 
grotesque.  For  example,  you  will  see  a  life-size 
portrait  bust  of  a  dead  Genoese  attorney,  with 
a  magniloquent  inscription  setting  forth  his  many 
merits  as  husband,  father,  and  advocate.  The 
deceased  gentleman  is  so  carefully  portrayed  by 
the  faithful  stone-cutter  that  certain  unornamental 
warts  on  the  edge  of  his  whiskers  can  be  dis- 
cerned. At  the  base  of  the  monument  is  a  por- 
trait group  of  Mrs.  Attorney  and  all  the  little 
Attorneys  weeping  at  the  tomb. 

A  tomb  of  a  different  type  represents  a  man 
upon  his  death-bed — again  evidently  a  portrait. 
The  wasted,  emaciated  face,  with  glazing  eyes  and 
protruding  tongue,  is  turned  to  the  spectator  as 
the  head  lolls  over  the  shoulder,  supported  by 
a  nurse — possibly  his  wife.  This  is  so  realistic 
as  to  be  repulsive ;  it  is  fairly  photographic,  this 
death-bed  scene  in  marble. 

29 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Another  tomb  is  that  of  a  philanthropist  who, 
according  to  the  inscription,  founded  an  asylum  for 
the  blind.  This  also  has  a  portrait  bust,  and  the 
mourners  at  this  tomb  are  a  blind  boy  and  girl. 
Again  the  faithful  stone-cutter  has  surpassed  him- 
self in  verisimilitude.  The  boy  holds  a  marble 
Derby  hat  in  his  hand.  His  garments,  of  course, 
are  of  marble,  and  he  wears  a  pair  of  marble  con- 
gress gaiters,  with  side-elastics  of  marble.  The 
little  girl  carries  a  straw  hat  of  marble  and  wears 
a  pair  of  marble  pantalets.  Marble  tears  are  fall- 
ing from  her  sightless  marble  eyes. 

In  another  tomb  there  is  a  single  figure — that 
of  a  weeping  fat  lady.  The  dead  husband  here 
appears  merely  as  an  inscription,  and  upon  this 
background  of  his  virtues  is  projected  the  plump 
figure  of  his  sorrowing  spouse.  The  lady  is 
kneeling,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  eyes  look 
yearningly  upward  toward  the  place  where  the 
dear  departed  is  supposed  to  be.  The  pose  was 
evidently  copied  by  the  stone-cutter  from  one  of 
the  many  weeping  angels  of  the  masters.  Its 
angelic  appearance,  however,  is  somewhat  de- 
tracted from  by  the  fact  that  the  lady  is  fat ;  that 
the  stone-cutter  has  faithfully  depicted  her  fatness  ; 
that  the  marble  buttons  on  her  marble  bodice 
seem  bursting  from   their  marble    button-holes ; 

30 


AROUND    THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

and  that  she  is  attired  in  a  modish  gown  of  the 
fashion  of  some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago.  This 
gown  has  at  the  bottom  of  the  skirt  a  marble 
halayeuse^  and  also  has,  at  what  I  may  call  the 
dome  of  the  skirt,  a  large  marble  bustle. 

But  other  fabrics  and  textures  besides  this 
lady's  fashionable  gown  are  reproduced  with  equal 
fidelity.  Another  tomb  has  the  figure  of  a  widow 
—  evidently  a  portrait  again — and  a  magnificent 
lace  veil  is  thrown  over  the  head  and  shoulders. 
This  is  reproduced  with  such  fidelity  that  it  is 
easy  to  recognize  the  lace  as  Venetian.  Fancy 
point  de  Venise  in  marble ! 

Not  only  women's  but  men's  fashions  are  per- 
petuated here.  In  one  tomb  a  sorrowing  widower, 
full  length,  stands  mourning  at  his  wife's  grave. 
He  holds  in  one  hand  a  plug-hat  made  of  mar- 
ble, in  the  other  a  pair  of  marble  gloves.  He 
wears  a  marble  four-in-hand  tie,  a  cutaway  coat, 
and  trousers,  all  naturally  of  marble.  They  are, 
however,  a  little  out  of  date.  From  this  it  would 
appear  that  in  heaven  now  they  are  wearing  cut- 
aways with  one  button,  which  ceased  to  be  a  terres- 
trial fashion  several  years  ago.  It  was  much 
affected  by  fat  men,  as  the  falling  away  of  the  cut- 
away from  the  single  button  made  their  abdom- 
inal globulousness  less  noticeable.     The  deceased 

31 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

gentleman  also  wore  his  marble  trousers  about 
nineteen  inches  over  the  instep,  which  is  wider 
than  they  are  worn  now. 

Of  course,  amid  so  many  of  these  marble 
memorials  all  could  not  be  grotesque,  though  it 
must  be  admitted  that  most  of  them  are  extremely 
commonplace.  Occasionally  a  striking  one  would 
be  seen,  although  a  certain  weakness  of  grasp  would 
almost  invariably  betray  that  it  was  copied  from 
the  work  of  a  master  by  the  feeble  hand  of  a 
workman.  There  were  many  angels  in  striking 
poses,  but  these  were  often  rendered  ridiculous 
by  slight  modifications  of  the  conventional  angelic 
smile,  which  the  stone-cutter  would  sometimes 
turn  into  a  simper,  and  sometimes  into  a  smirk- 
Then,  again,  there  were  angels  whose  light, 
diaphanous  apparel  revealed  a  great  deal  of  their 
figures,  and  these  figures  were  not  modeled  with 
the  clarity  and  the  purity  of  the  antique,  but  with 
an  attention  to  muscular  articulation  and  a  wealth 
of  adipose  detail  which  showed  that  the  stone- 
cutter had  modeled  them  from  the  life,  and  very 
lively  life  at  that,  and  not  at  all  angelic. 

A  not  uncommon  design  was  that  of  a  white- 
robed  figure  entering  a  door  where  all  was  black 
beyond.  This,  in  white  and  black  marble,  was 
quite   eflPective.     But  from  its  repetition  it  was 

32 


AROUND   THE   MEPrTRRRANKAN 

evident,  as  already  noted,  diat  these  stooe-cnttcfs 
simply  borrow  other  men's  ideas.  Or  it  may  be 
that  the  sorrowing  Bmiily  bonows  them,  and  die 
stone-cutter  carries  out  dieir  widies. 

Altogether  the  Genoese  Campo  Santo  is  €me 
of  the  cariosities  ci  Southern  Europe.  Modem 
art  in  Italy  is  at  a  low  ebb.  France  and  Germany 
far  surpass  her.  But  it  is  remarkable  that  in  a 
country  which,  if  no  longer  mistress  of  the  art- 
world,  is  at  least  art-lovii^  such  crimes  against 
art  should  be  permitted.  If  the  Genoese  Campo 
Santo  serves  no  other  purpose,  it  will  at  least 
show  to  after  ages  how  debased  was  the  Italian 
art  of  1900,  in  contrast  with  the  Italian  art  of  the 
Renaissance.  And  it  will  also  shoiw  to  posterity 
exactly  how  nineteendi-centory  men  and  women 
dressed,  and  will  perpetuate  our  women's  fashions 
in  bonnets,  bodices,  skirts,  and  high-heeJcd  shoes, 
and  our  men's  fashions  in  swaUow^4ail,  60^,  and 
cutaway  coats,  fbur-in-hand  and  Ascot  ties,  s{Ming^ 
bottomed  trousers  and  elastic-side  gaiters — all  in 
imperishable  marble. 


From  Genoa  southward  we  sailed  between  the 
two  islands  of  Corsica  and  EJba,  both  reminiscent 
of  Napoleon.    It  was  in  Corsica  that  he  was  bom. 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

and  it  was  in  the  little  island  to  the  westward  that 
he  held  his  mimic  court  and  reigned  as  "Emperor 
of  Elba."  And  it  was  across  these  waters  where 
we  are  sailing  that  he  took  his  flight  for  France, 
again  to  terrify  Europe  with  the  meteoric  splendor 
of  the  short-lived  Hundred  Days.  As  we  sailed 
by  Elba  there  came  into  my  mind  the  language 
of  the  Paris  Moniteur,  official  journal  of  the 
restored  Bourbon  king,  in  chronicling  Napoleon's 
progress  from  day  to  day.  It  ran  somewhat  on 
this  wise: 

I.  "The  Corsican  scoundrel  has  escaped  from  Elba !  " 
II.  "  The  tyrant  has  landed  on  the  shores  of  France !  " 

III.  "Bonaparte    is    attempting   to   raise   a  rebellious 

army.*' 

IV.  "  General  Bonaparte  and  his  army  are  as  far  north 

as  Avignon." 
V.  "  The  ex-Emperor  Napoleon  is  at  Grenoble." 
VI.  "Napoleon  is  at  Lyons  with  a  large  army.'* 
VII.  "  The  emperor  has  reached  Dijon." 
VIII.  "  His  imperial  majesty  entered  his  capital  of  Paris 
yesterday,  amid  the  rejoicing  of  his  faithful 
subjects." 

Southward  from  Elba  we  passed  the  island  of 
Monte  Cristo.  But  not  the  one  which  Dumas 
made    famous — that   islet   lies   off  the  port   of 

34 


AROUND   THE   MEDITERRANEAN 

Marseilles.  Leaving  Sardinia  far  to  starboard, 
we  hugged  the  Italian  coast  toward  the  Straits 
of  Messina. 

Not  far  from  the  harbor  of  Naples  we  sighted 
a  rocky  islet,  apparently  a  couple  of  miles  off- 
shore. An  elderly  man  approached  me  on  deck, 
and  sard,  politely: 

"  Do  you  know  whether  this  is  Mount  Vesu- 
vius or  not  ?" 

I  replied  with  equal  politeness:  "I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  I  know  that  it  is  not  Vesuvius." 

"But,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  "if  you 
don't  know  what  it  is,  how  do  you  know  that  it 
ain't  Vesuvius?" 

"Because,"  I  replied,  pinning  him  with  my 
glittering  eye — "because  Vesuvius  is  inland,  and 
this  is  outland;  because  this  rock  is  about  three 
miles  around,  and  Vesuvius  is  about  thirty  miles 
around;  because  this  is  an  island,  and  Vesuvius 
is  not;  and  because  Vesuvius  is  a  volcano,  and 
this  is  not." 

The  elderly  man  sniffed  and  withdrew. 

Vesuvius  was  but  dimly  visible  when  we  were 
off  the  harbor  of  Naples,  being  shrouded  in  mist, 
but  we  clearly  saw  two  other  volcanoes — Strom- 
boli,  before  entering  the  Straits  of  Messina,  and 
iEtna,  after  passing  through  them.     Leaving  the 

35 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Tyrrhenian  Sea,  we  entered  the  Straits.  Here 
again  we  had  beautiful  panoramas  on  the  Cala- 
brian  and  Sicilian  shores,  for  both  sides  of  the 
straits  are  lined  with  cities,  towns,  and  villages. 
The  city  of  Messina  we  could  see  plainly  with 
the  naked  eye,  and  could  follow  the  detail  of  its 
streets,  squares,  and  buildings  with  a  good  glass. 
Its  size  so  surprised  me  that  I  looked  the  matter 
up,  and  found  that  with  its  suburbs  it  has  over 
a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants.  Still 
it  is  by  no  means  the  largest  city  in  Sicily.  Pal- 
ermo, the  capital,  has  nearly  three  hundred  thou- 
sand inhabitants. 

Through  the  straits  we  sailed,  and  soon  were 
headed  for  the  Ionian  Sea.  Still  we  hugged  the 
Sicilian  shore,  and  presently  the  giant  Mount 
JEtna  reared  its  hoary  head  before  us,  snow-capped, 
cloud -circled,  and  smoke  -  crowned.  Next  we 
passed  Catania  and  Syracuse,  and  finally  Cape 
Passero  was  the  southernmost  land  we  saw  which 
was  Italian. 

From  there  across  the  Ionian  Sea  to  Alexandria 
we  saw  no  land  until  we  sighted  the  island  of 
Crete.  For  miles  we  ran  along  the  shore,  scan- 
ning it  closely  with  our  glasses,  but  discerned  no 
signs  of  human  habitation.  It  was  very  different 
from  the  swarming  shores  of  the  Italian  Rivieras. 

36 


AROUND   THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

Two  lofty  snow-covered  peaks  arose  from  the 
mass  of  mountains  which  compose  the  southern 
half  of  the  island.  The  easternmost  is  Mount 
Ida. 


The  low  land-line  of  Alexandria  is  difficult  to 
discover  from  the  sea.  Unlike  the  rocky  head- 
lands of  Spain,  Sardinia,  Corsica,  Sicily,  and 
Crete,  you  are  almost  upon  the  shores  of  Egypt 
before  you  see  them.  The  knots  logged  by  the 
ship  tell  that  you  are  only  a  few  miles  away,  yet 
nothing  is  visible  before  the  big  ship's  prow  but 
the  blue  Levantine  sky  and  the  bluer  Mediterra- 
nean. Suddenly  you  see  a  silver  streak  start  out 
of  the  sea.  It  is  the  sandy  shore  of  the  great 
delta  of  the  Nile. 

The  silver  melts  into  ashen-gray,  the  gray  into 
brown.  Soon  you  begin  to  distinguish  flecks  upon 
the  brown  here  and  there,  and  you  see  that  they 
are  buildings  upon  a  background  of  sand.  Then 
there  starts  up  out  of  the  waste  of  sand  and  sea 
a  lofty  column,  which  the  traveled  ones  recognize 
as  Pompey's  Pillar.  And  as  the  eyes  of  all  are 
glued  to  the  curious  sight  of  this  flat,  sea-level 
city,  apparently  rising  out  of  the  sea,  there  sud- 
denly   hails    us   a    queer,   piratical-looking  craft. 

37 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

She  is,  in  a  way,  yawl-rigged — that  is,  she  has  two 
masts,  but  is  not  of  the  schooner  tribe.  Instead 
of  that,  she  has  two  enormous  lateen  sails,  and  is 
one  of  the  great  felucca  family,  found  all  through 
the  Mediterranean  from  Gibraltar  to  Joppa.  The 
crew  are  even  more  piratical-looking  than  the 
craft.  They  are  clad  in*  white,  long-skirted  tunics, 
black  blouses,  baggy  blue  breeches,  and  crimson 
fezes,  some  of  them  white-wound,  turban-wise. 
Later,  we  find,  on  going  ashore,  that  there  is  great 
significance  in  head-gear. 

As  the  big  steamer  slows  down  they  bring  their 
felucca  smartly  alongside,  and  one  of  their  num- 
ber grasps  the  dangling  rope-ladder  and  swiftly 
climbs  the  side.  It  is  the  pilot.  As  he  comes 
aboard  of  us  the  entire  ship's  company,  officers 
and  crew,  as  well  as  passengers,  line  up  at  the  rail 
to  stare  at  him.  For  officers  and  crew  are  all  alike 
strangers  in  this  Oriental  port.  The  ship  had 
never  been  here  before.  So  we  certainly  "manned 
the  side"  in  this  Oriental's  honor. 

After  some  elaborate  salutations  the  pilot  non- 
chalantly mounted  the  bridge  and  took  charge 
of  the  ship.  I  observed  that  the  captain,  the 
first,  second,  third,  and  fourth  officers,  and  the 
quartermaster  all  remained  on  the  bridge  too. 
On  their  North-German  faces  there  was  a  look 

38 


AROUND   THE   MEDITERRANEAN 

of  bewilderment  not  untinged  with  apprehension. 
To  hand  over  their  fine  ship  to  this  outlandish 
Oriental  seemed  to  them  foolhardy.  Perhaps  he 
did  not  know  that  the  ship  came  from  Deutschland, 
and  that  she  was  named  after  the  great  Deutschen 
Kaiser;  he  might  never  have  heard  the  phrase 
"Gott  mitt  uns."  So,  praying  that  the  Kaiser 
and  God — in  that  order — might  guard  them  in 
this  moment  of  peril,  the  captain  and  his  officers 
breathed  hard,  watched  the  Oriental,  and  pre- 
pared to  throttle  him  if  the  ship  struck. 

But  nothing  untoward  took  place.  The  Egyp- 
tian pilot  took  the  ship  in  past  the  breakwater's 
end,  and  brought  her  to  her  anchorage  as  skill- 
fully as  any  Bremerhaven  pilot  could  have  done. 
And  presently  we  were  boarded  by  quarantine 
and  other  boats  bearing  the  white-and-crimson 
crescent  and  the  star — badge  of  Egypt's  suzerain, 
the  Syltan.  It  struck  me  that  the  Khedive's  flag 
should  also  have  been  quartered  with  England's 
crimson  cross,  symbol  of  his  other  suzerain,  the 
Queen.  For  at  times  the  much-counseled  Khe- 
dive must  wonder  whether  he  owns  himself,  and, 
if  not,  to  whom  he  belongs. 

When  the  quarantine  flag  fluttered  down  the 
halyards  we  were  invaded  by  clouds  of  boats  and 
hordes  of  boatmen.     Bedlam   broke  loose.     All 

39 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  languages  of  Babel  seemed  to  be  ringing  in 
our  ears.  Boatmen  bearing  the  badges  of  Cai- 
rene  and  Alexandrian  hotels,  boatmen  wearing 
jerseys  branded  with  the  names  of  tourist  agen- 
cies, and  boatmen  engaged  in  individual  rather 
than  corporate  extortion  endeavored  to  divorce 
the  luckless  passengers  from  their  luggage.  On 
one  hand  might  be  seen  a  New  York  dude,  pale 
but  firm,  seated  upon  a  pyramid  whose  base  was 
a  trunk,  the  superstructure  made  up  of  steamer 
trunk  and  valises,  and  the  apex  a  hat-box,  striv- 
ing to  defend  himself  from  the  assaults  of  a  gang 
of  bawling  boatmen,  while  a  one-eyed  pirate  was 
pulling  out  the  trunk  at  the  pyramid's  base  pre- 
paratory to  lugging  it  off  to  his  boat.  Elsewhere 
might  be  seen  an  old  lady,  an  octogenarian,  bound 
for  the  Holy  Land — I  mean  the  terrestrial  one  — 
shrieking  with  alarm  as  these  swarthy  red-capped 
fellows  tried  to  tear  her  from  her  bonnet-box.  In 
the  midst  of  this  pandemonium  the  German  ship's 
officers  remained  as  motionless  and  impassive  as 
Pompey's  Pillar.  Great  thing,  German  phlegm 
— he  in  ? 

But  all  things  have  an  end.  After  an  hour  or 
so  the  last  passenger,  the  last  trunk,  the  last  valise, 
and  the  last  hat-box  had  been  bundled  into  the 
boats  and  were  on  their  way  ashore.     The  ordeal 

40 


AROUND   THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

of  the  Alexandrian  boatmen — for  years  renowned 
as  the  worst  on  the  Mediterranean — had  been 
safely  passed,  and  it  is  only  fair  to  admit  that  the 
devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted. 

On  board  with  the  hotel  boatmen  were  some 
favored  dragomans.  These  indefatigable  gentry 
earwigged  the  passengers  for  employment,  and 
urged  them  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  drago- 
mans ashore.  "Me  Number  One  dragoman," 
was  their  favorite  remark;  "all  others  very  bad." 
Some  of  these  fellows  were  not  unamusing,  al- 
though it  must  be  admitted  that  their  wit  was  of 
the  cheap,  machine  kind  to  be  heard  in  steamship 
smoking-saloons,  on  the  variety  stage,  and  in  the 
conversation  of  smart  "co-eds."  The  incongruity 
of  "Let  her  go,  Gallagher,"  and  "That's  all-right- 
all-right,"  coming  from  the  lips  of  Orientals,  was 
amusing. 

Some  of  these  dragomans  were  white-skinned 
Osmanlies,  some  were  evidently  of  Bedouin- Arab 
blood,  and  some  were  Sudanese  negroes,  black  as 
coal.  Yet  all  had  picked  up  some  American  and 
English  slang.  They  probably  began  as  Cairene 
donkey-boys  and  grew  up  into  dragomans.  The 
many-tongued  head-porters  in  European  hotels 
are  said  to  grow  up  from  the  little  pages  who 
have  broken  out  into  a  rash  of  buttons,  who  open 

41 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  door  for  you,  touch  their  caps  ceaselessly, 
and  learn  to  say  "  thank  you "  in  twenty-seven 
tongues. 

While  the  dragoman  wit  is  not  of  a  high  order, 
it  was  sufficiently  so  to  cover  with  confusion  sev- 
eral of  our  steamship  dudes  who  attempted  to 
"take  a  rise"  out  of  them.  It  is  the  usual  fate 
of  him  who  ventures  chaff  with  a  New  York  news- 
boy, a  London  crossing-sweeper,  or  an  Egyptian 
donkey-boy  or  dragoman. 

So  amid  a  hurricane  of  American  slang  and 
cockney  chaff  we  landed  on  the  pier  at  Alexan- 
dria. 

It  is  odd,  but  during  all  of  this  loud  noise  and 
vacant  laughter  there  rose  continually  before  my 
mind*s  eye  a  series  of  pictures  of  the  ancient  Alex- 
andria— of  Hypatia,  the  beautiful  pagan  lecturess; 
of  the  rapt  audiences  listening  to  her  discourses  on 
the  elder  creed;  of  how  she  thus  aroused  the  jeal- 
ousy of  Cyril,  Bishop  of  Alexandria;  of  the  rabble 
of  monks  who,  incited  by  Cyril,  dragged  her  into 
a  church  and  murdered  her  before  the  high  altar; 
of  the  historian  Draper's  fiery  picture  of  the  scene; 
of  the  very  words  with  which  he  tells  how  she 
"fell  beneath  the  club  of  Peter  the  Reader";  and 
how  her  white  body  was  first  defiled  and  then  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  monks. 

42 


AROUND    THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

These  were  the  pictures  that  rose  before  me 
on  that  starlight  night,  as  we  drove  through 
the  swarming  streets  of  the  ancient  city  where 
Hypatia  lived  and  died. 


43 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

pROBABLY  the  average  dweller  in  Western 
*  America  looks  upon  Africa  as  a  Dark  Con- 
tinent in  everything,  even  in  railways.  He  would 
smile  on  hearing  that  the  Egyptian  railways  are 
better  run  than  many  American  ones.  Yet  the 
fact  is  indisputable.  The  railway  that  runs  from 
Alexandria  to  Upper  Egypt  is  one  after  which 
many  American  railways  might  pattern.  It  is  a 
double-track  road.  It  has  heavy  steel  rails.  The 
track  is  well  ballasted.  It  has  an  elaborate  system 
of  signal-towers  and  pneumatic  switches.  Much 
of  its  roadway  is  lined  with  heavy  cut-stone 
masonry  parapets.  Its  station  platforms  are  also 
built  of  cut-stone  masonry.  Its  station  buildings 
are  of  stone.  Its  bridges  and  other  viaducts  are 
of  steel.  Its  trains  run  smoothly  and  swiftly, 
averaging  thirty-five  miles  an  hour.  There  are 
many  crossings  in  which  the  railway  is  carried 
over  the  roadway  on  steel  viaducts ;  the  few 
grade-crossings  are  guarded  by  gates,  with  gate- 

44 


I 

I 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

keepers.  Signal-men  with  flags  stand  at  all 
switches,  stations,  and  crossings.  Altogether, 
the  equipment  and  operation  of  the  road  are 
admirable. 

For  hundreds  of  miles  this  modern  railway- 
goes  through  the  fertile  fields  of  Egypt — most 
incongruous  amid  the  primitive  methods  of  hus- 
bandry to  be  noted  there.  For,  as  the  express 
trains  whirl  and  shriek  past  the  toiling  fellaheen 
in  the  fields,  you  see  that  they  are  using  the  same 
primitive  implements  that  their  forefathers  used 
when  Pharaoh  reigned.  They  still  plow  with  a 
simple  wooden  implement,  dragged  by  patient 
buff^alo  oxen.  They  still  laboriously  lift  water 
with  a  sweep  to  the  head-level  of  irrigating 
ditches.  They  still  use  the  sickle,  as  they  did  in 
the  days  when  Ruth  followed  the  reapers  of  Boaz. 
And  they  still  carry  their  bundles  of  fodder  upon 
the  backs  of  patient  asses,  or,  in  default  of  asses' 
backs,  upon  their  own. 

Of  course,  all  agriculture  in  Egypt  is  not  on 
such  rudimentary  lines.  Rich  men  and  corpora- 
tions own  land,  as  well  as  fellaheen  peasants,  and 
many  tall  chimneys  testify  to  the  existence  of 
pumping-works.  Then,  too,  the  Egyptian  gov- 
ernment has  dammed  the  Nile  at  an  enormous 
cost,  and  is  engaged  in  other  water-storage  schemes 

45 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

that  will  widen  the  narrow  strip  of  irrigated  land 
on  either  bank  of  the  great  river,  and  thereby 
enlarge  the  resources  of  this  wonderful  country. 

For  it  is  a  wonderful  country.  To  talk  of  its 
temples,  its  pyramids,  its  ruins,  and  its  dead  cities 
would  be  telling  twice-told  tales.  But  no  man 
can  gaze  on  this  flat  and  fertile  river  valley  with- 
out being  amazed  at  its  productiveness.  I  have 
been  shown  in  Virginia  worthless  lands  which  the 
wasteful  Anglo-Saxon  had  exhausted  by  two  cen- 
turies of  tobacco-raising.  But  here  in  Egypt  I  see 
fields  still  as  fertile  as  when  the  first  dynasty 
began,  although  they  have  been  tilled  for  four 
thousand  years. 

Some  historians  believe  that  Egypt  was  the 
cradle  of  our  Aryan  civilization.  Here,  they  say, 
nomadic  man  paused  at  the  great  river  when 
wandering  from  Arabia-Felix  into  Africa.  Gradu- 
ally those  tired  of  wandering  settled  upon  the  fat 
and  juicy  banks  of  the  Nile  River  and  began  a 
fitful  husbandry  of  the  soil.  Tickled  with  a  stick 
it  laughed  with  a  harvest,  as  the  old  saying  goes. 
Gradually  villages  grew  up,  and  thrift  brought 
peace  and  prosperity.  The  rich  lands  were 
divided  among  the  villagers:  this  was  the  begin- 
ning of  Real  Property.  The  property  bound- 
aries were  annually  obliterated  by  the  rise  of  the 

46 


? 


1 


^'-^^1 


A   GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

Nile ;  regulations  were  made  to  settle  disputes 
concerning  them  :  this  was  the  beginning  of  Law. 
Wise  men  among  the  villagers  observed  that  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars  had  much  to  do  with  the 
volume  of  the  Nile  flood :  this  was  the  beginning 
of  Astronomy.  The  simpler  villagers  looked 
with  awe  upon  these  wise  men  who  spent  their 
time  communing  with  the  stars :  this  was  the 
beginning  of  the  Priesthood.  The  priests  soon 
claimed  supernatural  knowledge  of  the  celestial 
bodies  ;  they  imposed  rules  regarding  the  manners 
and  conduct  of  men  ;  they  ordered  the  villagers  to 
follow  them  and  to  erect  temples  wherein  these 
rules  should  be  expounded :  this  was  the  begin- 
ning of  Religion.  But  the  fierce  nomads  of  the 
desert  found  profit  in  harrying  and  plundering 
the  weaker  villagers  by  the  riverside.  Therefore 
the  priests  chose  from  among  the  villagers  those 
who  were  not  only  brave  but  crafty,  cunning,  and 
leaders  of  men.  These  bold  and  cunning  vil- 
lagers succeeded  in  defeating  the  fiercer  nomads 
by  ambuscade  and  stratagem :  this  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Science  of  War.  To  protect  their 
cities  they  erected  mighty  walls  and  fortresses : 
thus  grew  up  Engineering  and  Architecture. 
And,  at  last,  a  bolder  leader  among  the  bold  par- 
leyed with  the  priesthood,  terrified  the  mass  of 

47 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

common  men,  and  made  himself  lord  over  all, 
priests  and  commons.  And  thus  grew  up  Mon- 
archy, and  thus  there  resulted  Church,  State,  and 
King. 

These  long-forgotten  scraps  of  reading  came  to 
my  mind  as  from  a  luxurious  compartment  in  an 
express  train  between  Alexandria  and  Cairo  I 
looked  out  upon  the  Valley  of  the  Nile. 

It  was  toward  evening,  and  the  peasants  were 
returning  from  the  fields  to  their  homes.  Pic- 
turesquely clad,  they  reminded  one  irresistibly 
of  old  Bible  pictures.  You  would  see  what  was 
evidently  a  family — father,  mother,  grown  chil- 
dren, and  little  ones — some  mounted,  some  on 
foot,  and  with  most  nondescript  collections  of 
animals  —  all  burden -bearing.  In  one  group 
I  noted  a  camel,  several  asses,  a  buffalo  bull,  and 
a  flock  of  sheep,  all  placidly  pursuing  their 
homeward  way,  carrying  the  fodder  for  their 
supper  on  their  backs — except  the  sheep.  And 
the  mild-ty t^  fellaheen  looked  up  with  much  the 
same  gaze  as  did  their  animals  as  the  express 
train  whirled  by.  For  the  express  train  was 
nineteen  hundred  years  after  Christ,  and  they 
were  nineteen  hundred  before. 


48 


'\  .A^-^^Z"  ,■"?";  4 


Mena  House ^  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyramids.' 


A   GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

One  of  the  most  unique  of  the  Egyptian  hotels 
is  Mena  House,  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyramids.  Its 
name  comes  from  Menes,  who,  tradition  says, 
was  the  earliest  king  of  Egypt.  An  invalid  Eng- 
lishman built  a  house  near  the  Pyramids,  some 
seven  years  ago.  He  found  that  the  climate  ben- 
efited him  so  much  that  a  syndicate  imitated  him, 
and  erected  there  a  large  hotel.  It  is  possible  that 
the  climate  is  suited  for  invalids,  as  the  air  has  the 
extreme  dryness  characteristic  of  the  desert,  but, 
like  all  desert  climates,  the  utter  absence  of  hu- 
midity causes  a  sharp  fall  in  temperature  about 
sunset.  This  is  notable  in  the  towns  on  the  edge 
of  the  desert  in  Southern  California.  I  should 
imagine  that  the  sudden  fall  would  be  bad  for 
weak  lungs. 

However  that  may  be,  pleasure-lovers  rather 
than  invalids  have  invaded  Mena  House.  When 
we  were  there  a  majority  of  the  guests  seemed 
to  be  English  army  officers,  Anglo-Egyptian 
officials,  and  English  women  of  the  "smart  set." 
They  devote  themselves  to  riding,  driving,  quail- 
shooting,  and  golf.  Most  of  the  men  and  many 
of  the  women  are  always  in  riding  togs,  and  their 
conversation  is  decidedly  horsey.  There  is  some 
coaching  done,  too,  and  the  hotel  people  regularly 
run  a  coach  to  Cairo.  The  hotel  is  comfortable, 
E  49 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

well  furnished,  and  well  kept.  It  is  surrounded 
with  wide  verandas  looking  out  upon  prim  gar- 
dens—  necessarily  very  small,  owing  to  the  sur- 
roundings, for  all  vegetation  stops  with  the 
inclosing  wall,  and  beyond  is  the  desert. 

A  few  hundred  yards  from  Mena  House  is  the 
great  Pyramid  of  Cheops.  Its  base  is  surrounded 
by  hordes  of  tourists  and  gangs  of  greedy  Arabs. 
Up  the  Pyramid  are  other  toiling  tourists,  pulled 
and  propelled  by  other  Arabs.  In  a  tent  sits  the 
old  Sheik  of  the  Pyramids,  who  collects  toll  from 
the  tourists  for  the  labors  of  his  Bedouins  at  the 
rate  of  twenty  piastres  (or  one  dollar)  per  tourist. 
Then  the  Bedouins  themselves  wheedle  and  extort 
as  much  more  from  the  hapless  tourists  when  they 
get  them  up  on  the  Pyramid.  The  climb  is  fatigu- 
ing, but  with  the  aid  of  the  Arabs  is  not  difficult. 
These  barefooted  fellows  offer  to  race  up  and 
down  the  great  Pyramid  in  ten  minutes  for  two 
shillings.  If  you  remain  obdurate  they  will  do 
it  for  one. 

When  we  were  going  on  camels  from  the  Pyra- 
mids to  the  Sphinx  we  were  beset  by  numerous 
unattached  Arabs,  despite  the  protests  of  the 
camel-drivers,  to  whom  we  had  been  farmed  out 
by  the  Sheik.  These  gentry  exhausted  every  pos- 
sible means   of  raising  backsheesh.     If  one  was 

50 


■UNIVERSITY 


*M«  Arab  nimbly  climbed  up  to  the  Sphinx's  face.'' 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

mounting  or  dismounting,  they  would  place  a 
hand  upon  the  cameFs  saddle  and  demand  back- 
sheesh. If  a  photograph  were  being  taken,  they 
would  stick  themselves  into  the  landscape  and 
demand  backsheesh.  One  nimbly  climbed  up  to 
the  Sphinx's  face,  and  when  he  descended  sternly 
demanded  backsheesh  from  every  one  within  view 
of  his  feat.  One  particularly  persistent  Arab  de- 
manded backsheesh  of  me  because  he  stood  behind 
me  while  a  man  was  taking  a  photograph  of  the 
scene.  The  camera  man  being  a  total  stranger  to 
me,  I  told  the  Arab  to  go  to  him  for  backsheesh; 
the  Arab  blandly  replied  that  he  had  already  col- 
lected from  him,  and  that  it  was  my  turn  now.  I 
gathered  that  a  partial  table  of  backsheesh  would 
run  about  as  follows: 

To  walking  by  your  catnePs  side  .  .  .  .   i  piastre 

To  stroking  your  camel's  rump i  piastre 

To  forming  background  for  photograph  .   2  piastres 

To  smiling  in  same 1  piastre 

To  asking  after  your  health i  piastre 

Some  of  these  fellows  speak  English  fairly 
well.  One  of  them  said  to  me,  "How  do  you 
do  ?"  I  replied  that  I  was  fair  to  middling,  and 
asked  him  how  he  was.  He  admitted  that  he 
was  able  to  be  about.     "Now,"   said   I,  "how 

51 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

much  do  you  charge  for  asking  about  my  health  ?" 
He  replied  that  he  thought  one  piastre  would 
about  settle  it.  "But,"  said  I,  "I  asked  you 
about  your  health,  and  I  always  charge  two  pias- 
tres for  that.  So  you  owe  me  one  piastre.  See  ? " 
He  grinned  and  remarked :  "Ah,  you  not  Ing- 
leese;  you  Amareek." 

I  wonder  how  he  knew  my  nationality  ?    I  think 
my  American  accent  must  have  betrayed  me. 


Cairo  has  been  so  much  written  about  during 
the  last  decade  that  it  would  be  idle  to  attempt 
here  to  describe  its  sights.  Every  visitor  to  the 
Midway  at  the  Chicago  Fair  knows  his  Cairo — 
or  thinks  he  does.  Hence  I  shall  spare  the 
reader  any  description  of  sights  and  sounds  and 
smells  or  any  guide-book  lore. 

But  there  is  one  place  in  Cairo  which  the  aver- 
age tourist  does  not  visit.  It  is  the  famous 
university  in  the  Mosque  of  El-Azhar.  Most 
tourists  know  nothing  of  it ;  those  who  hear  of 
it  are  told  that  they  will  not  be  welcome  there. 
Furthermore,  they  are  warned  against  loud  talk, 
noisy  laughter,  attempting  to  use  cameras,  or 
even  staring  intently  at  the  students,  who,  oddly 
enough,  do  not  seem  to  like   it.     They  are  very 

52 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

"queer" — these  Mohammedans — are  they  not? 
If  a  troupe  of  Cook's  tourists  from  Cairo,  per- 
sonally conducted  by  Dragoman  Said  Moham- 
med, should  visit  Palo  Alto,  go  into  the  class- 
rooms, peer  over  the  students*  shoulders  at  their 
note-books,  examine  them  with  lorgnettes,  chat- 
ter loudly  in  Arabic,  laugh  noisily  and  inces- 
santly, and  take  kodak  snap-shots  of  them,  it 
would  doubtless  be  considered  not  at  all  rude, 
and  the  Stanford  students  would  not  resent  it. 
But  the  Mohammedan  students  are  very  queer, 
and  they  do.  To  the  average  tourist  and  the 
traveling  girly-girl  Hfe  without  loud  talk  and 
vacant  laughter  would  be  intolerable;  so  they 
keep  away  from  El-Azhar,  thereby  preventing 
what  dwellers  in  Cairo  call  "possible  outbreaks 
of  fanaticism" — and  it  is  very  much  better  for 
all  concerned. 

This  seat  of  learning  is  in  an  ancient  mosque. 
A  mosque,  it  may  be  well  to  say,  is  not  neces- 
sarily a  single  building,  like  a  church.  It  is  a 
sacred  or  consecrated  inclosure,  but  it  may  be 
devoted  to  other  than  strictly  religious  uses.  For 
example,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  buildings  in 
Cairo  is  a  modern  mosque,  which  is  practically 
a  mausoleum  wherein  lie  the  remains  of  Khedive 
Tewfik,  and  in  which  the  other  members  of  the 

53 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Khedivial  family  are  to  repose.  It  is  so  gor- 
geously decorated  that  the  interior  of  the  little 
mosque  looks  like  a  jewel-box,  aflame  as  it  is 
with  stained -glass  windows,  beautiful  rugs  and 
carpets,  and  tapestries  from  Ormuz  and  from  Ind 
— which  is  not  an  exaggeration,  for  there  hang 
upon  its  walls  beautiful  rugs  and  prayer-carpets 
sent  from  Further  Islam.  For  example,  every 
year  Mecca  sends  from  the  looms  of  her  most 
cunning  weavers  a  rug  emblazoned  with  texts 
from  the  Koran — sends  it  to  the  Khedive,  not  in 
token  of  fealty,  not  as  a  vassal  to  a  suzerain,  but 
in  greeting  and  gratitude  for  aid  extended  yearly 
by  the  Khedivial  family  to  hungry  and  footsore 
pilgrims  in  Mecca. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  ancient  Mosque  of  El- 
Azhar  is  devoted  to  education.  It  is  a  vast  pile 
of  buildings,  quadrangles,  courts,  offices,  and 
shrines.  It  is  still  a  sacred  place.  True  believ- 
ers cross  its  threshold  barefoot,  and  Christians 
must  don  sandals  before  they  can  enter  it.  Be- 
fore the  shrines,  facing  eastward  toward  Mecca, 
you  see  at  all  hours  pious  Mohammedans  en- 
gaged in  their  devotions.  Last  Friday  we  read 
in  the  French  daily,  Le  Journal  du  Caire  :  "  His 
Highness  the  Khedive  goes  to-day  to  El-Azhar 
for  his  Sabbath-day's  prayers."     So  while  it  is 

54 


^'^ students  seated  in  groups  in  the  Mosque  of  El -Azhar.'^ 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

Still  a  mosque,  a  place  of  prayer,  it  is  primarily 
an  institution  of  learning. 

On  entering  the  great  quadrangle,  the  sight 
which  presents  itself  is  most  extraordinary.  Many 
hundreds  of  students  are  seated  in  groups  upon 
the  stone  floor.  By  the  way,  the  number  of 
students  at  present  is  said  to  be  about  eight  thou- 
sand. Most  of  these  groups  are  engaged  in 
study.  They  are  poring  over  books,  swaying 
the  body  to  and  fro  (which  they  believe  to  be  an 
aid  to  memorizing),  and  muttering  the  words 
which  they  are  transferring  to  their  brains.  From 
the  vocal  chords  of  these  thousands  of  throats 
there  arises  a  loud  humming  noise  not  unlike  the 
buzzing  of  insects'  wings  in  a  meadow  on  a  sum- 
mer day.  Other  groups  are  gathered  around  their 
teachers.  The  students  vary  greatly  in  age. 
Some  are  as  old  as  their  instructors,  but  the 
majority  seem  to  be  about  eighteen  or  twenty. 

There  are  younger  students  in  other  mosques 
— classes  of  fifty  or  sixty  boys  and  girls  learning 
to  read  and  write.  The  discipline  in  these  pri- 
mary schools  is  sharp  and  stern.  While  we  were 
in  one  mosque  an  offending  school-boy  was  seized 
by  the  master,  flogged  with  a  bamboo  rod  with 
all  the  strength  of  a  sinewy  arm,  and  then  his 
wrists  twisted  until  he  shrieked  with  pain. 

55 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

In  El-Azhar,  court  after  court  succeeded  the 
great  quadrangle,  all  filled  with  students,  seated 
cross-legged  upon  the  marble  floor.  In  the  fur- 
ther quadrangles  were  the  older  students  and  the 
more  advanced  "classes" — if  they  may  be  called 
so — for  the  teachings  are  almost  entirely  religious 
and  almost  the  only  text-book  is  the  Koran.  Mo- 
hammedans believe  that  everything  worth  learning 
is  in  the  Koran,  that  all  learning  outside  of  it  is 
pernicious,  and  that  all  who  disbelieve  in  it  are 
dogs  and  blasphemers.  Under  the  latter  polite 
terms  they  include  us  Christians. 

If  dwellers  in  the  Occident  believe  the  cur- 
riculum does  not  interest  the  students,  they  are 
mistaken.  I  never  saw  such  concentration  of 
mind  on  the  part  of  both  teacher  and  student. 
Take  one  of  many  groups  :  At  the  base  of  a  pillar, 
on  a  low  stool,  is  seated  a  swarthy  man  of  some 
forty  years,  his  turban  with  its  distinctive  mark 
indicating  that  he  has  been  to  Mecca.  At  his 
feet,  seated  in  a  circle,  are  some  two-score  stu- 
dents, most  of  them  bearded  men.  In  his  left 
hand  he  holds  a  copy  of  the  Koran,  from  which 
he  reads — not  with  the  measured  tones  of  one 
of  our  clergymen  or  college  professors,  but  with 
fiery  eyes,  with  sweat  rolling  down  from  his  swart 
brow,  with  right  hand  in  his  excitement  fiercely 

56 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

beating  the  book,  with  a  voice  which  at  times  rises 
into  a  shrill  scream,  while  around  him  the  dark 
circle  of  students  listen  with  almost  equal  excite- 
ment, indicating  approval  at  times  by  sudden 
gestures,  and  so  wrapped  up  in  their  master  (at 
whose  feet  they  sit,  literally,  as  Paul  sat  at  the  feet 
of  Garnaliel)  that  they  do  not  even  see  the  hated 
Christians,  who  stand  by  the  circle  looking  down 
at  them  curiously. 

"  Hated  Christians  "  ?  Yes.  For  they  do 
hate  us.  They  are  taught  to  hate  us.  This  fiery- 
eyed  fanatic  tutor  is  teaching  them  to  hate  us. 
This  book  which  he  is  now  construing  breathes 
hatred  to  Christians  in  nearly  every  line.  The 
blind  beggar  at  the  door,  clad  in  caked  dirt  and 
filthy  rags,  who  asked  for  alms  as  we  entered, 
secretly  despises  us  because  we  are  Christians,  and 
despises  us  none  the  less  for  our  piastre. 

Yet,  if  its  curriculum  and  its  methods  are 
mediaeval,  this  institution  is  a  great  one  in  point 
of  numbers  and  influence,  for  its  students  are 
numbered  by  the  thousands,  and  they  come  from 
all  Islam,  from  the  Straits  of  Sunda  to  the  Pillars 
of  Hercules.  There  are  students  here  from  Java, 
and  there  are  students  from  Morocco.  There  are 
teachers  expounding  the  Koran  in  all  the  tongues 
of  the  sons  of  Mahound.     You  see  groups  with 

57 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

their  instructors  from  India,  from  Persia,  from 
Syria,  from  Algiers,  from  Tripoli ;  white-skinned 
Osmanlis  from  European  Turkey,  brown-skinned 
Bedouins  from  Arabia,  and  black-skinned  Ethi- 
opians from  the  Sudan ;  and  on  the  faces  of  all 
there  is  the  same  intentness,  the  same  concentra- 
tion, the  same  fanaticism. 

As  we  left  this  remarkable  institution  I  could 
not  help  contrasting  its  devotees  with  some  of 
our  dilettante  college  professors  and  dissipated 
college  students  of  the  Occident.  It  seems  to 
be  the  rule  in  the  Occident  that  the  college  pro- 
fessor should  be  interested  in  things  foreign  to 
his  teaching,  and  that  the  college  student  should 
look  upon  study  as  a  huge  joke.  Contrasting 
these  Occidental  ideas  with  the  Mohammedan 
ones,  I  wondered  whether  Occidentalism  could 
ever  make  any  breach  in  Mohammedanism. 
Looking  at  Mohammedans  performing  their 
devotions  regardless  of  the  presence  of  amused 
or  sneering  strangers,  I  wondered  how  many  boys 
in  a  college  dormitory  would  have  the  courage  to 
kneel  down  and  say  their  prayers  before  their 
mates.  I  wondered  what  would  happen  to  them 
if  they  did.  I  wondered  how  soon  our  boards 
of  foreign  missions  would  succeed  in  evangelizing 
the   Mohammedans.      I   wondered'  how  long  it 

58 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

would  take  our  Government  to  civilize  and 
Christianize  our  fierce  Mohammedan  citizens  in 
the  Philippines.  If  they  are  one  one-hundredth 
as  fanatical  as  those  we  saw  in  the  University  of 
El-Azhar,  I  think  it  will  take  some  time — prob- 
ably five  or  ten  years. 


I  have  often  heard  women  rail  bitterly  at  their 
skirts,  and  declare  it  to  be  impossible  for  them 
even  to  ride  a  bicycle  as  well  as  a  man  on  account 
of  their  petticoats.  This  I  have  always  secretly 
doubted.  I  once  saw  a  female  acrobat  appear  in 
"full  evening-dress" — that  is,  to  all  appearances. 
She  wore  a  low-cut  bodice,  long  skirt,  gloves, 
stockings,  and  slippers,  and  looked  as  most  women 
do  in  their  evening  garb,  except  that  her  slippers 
were  heelless.  Yet  she  went  through  an  elaborate 
series  of  flip-flaps,  turned  forward,  backward,  and 
twisting  somersaults,  "skinned  the  cat"  on  the 
bar,  and  finally  went  through  the  dashing  trapeze 
act  technically  known  in  circus  circles  as  "zam- 
pillerostation."  After  that,  when  I  saw  young 
women  adopt  tight-fitting  knickerbockers,  visible 
silk  stockings,  and  high-heeled  shoes  for  bicycle 
wear,  because  they  "could  not  ride  a  wheel  in 
skirts,"  I  opined  that  it  was  not  the  exigencies  of 

59 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  bicycle  but  the  possession  of  curvilinear  ad- 
vantages which  made  these  young  women  eschew 
skirts. 

Egypt  confirms  my  belief.  Nearly  all  the  men 
wear  petticoats.  High  up  in  the  air  on  unfinished 
buildings  you  see  bricklayers  and  stonemasons 
hard  at  work,  with  the  wind  blowing  their  petti- 
coats about  their  shanks.  You  see  railway  "  nav- 
vies," or  "section-men,"  digging  along  the  line 
in  petticoats.  You  see  ships*  pilots  clambering  up 
the  lofty  sides  of  ocean  steamers,  over  dangling 
hempen  ladders,  in  petticoats.  You  see  the  plow- 
man plodding  his  weary  way  across  the  lea  in  pet- 
ticoats. You  see,  astride  of  donkeys,  grave  and 
gray-bearded  Mohammedans  in  petticoats.  You 
see  Arabs  running  up  and  down  the  pyramids  in 
petticoats.  And  in  a  school-yard  near  the  Mosque 
of  Omar  you  see  boys  playing  football  in  petti- 
coats. Football  is  a  sort  of  breeches  apotheosis 
in  the  minds  of  young  persons,  both  male  and 
female.  If  ever  a  girly-girl  sighs  to  be  breeched 
it  is  when  she  gazes  on  the  gridiron.  Therefore, 
after  noting  the  petticoated  Oriental,  I  shall  no 
longer  heed  the  plaint  of  the  American  girl 
against  the  "tyranny  of  skirts." 

But  if  the  Egyptian  clings  to  his  petticoats,  it 
is  not  so  with  other  articles  of  his  apparel.    They 

60 


^'A  petticoated  Oriental.^ 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   EGYPT 

seem  to  incline  to  wearing  slop-shop  Occidental 
coats  and  waistcoats  with  their  Oriental  petti- 
coats. They  are  like  Gilbert's  comic-opera  hero 
who  was  a  man  from  his  waist  up  and  a  fairy  from 
his  waist  down. 

It  is  this  variety  of  Oriental  that  you  find  prin- 
cipally at  the  Cairo  cafes.  There  are  said  to  be 
over  one  thousand  cafes  there,  and  I  can  easily 
believe  it.  At  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  you  see 
the  tables  in  front  of  these  places  thronged  with 
dreamy  Orientals,  sipping  mild  beverages  like 
lemonade  and  sugared  water,  and  smoking  ciga- 
rettes— for  the  hookah^  or  hubble-bubble  pipe, 
you  rarely  see,  and  it  is  principally  used  to  sell 
at  exorbitant  prices  to  ingenuous  tourists.  It  is 
remarkable  how  all  these  idle  cafe  frequenters 
make  a  living,  although  doubtless  their  method 
of  living  costs  but  little  here.  Yet  the  amount  of 
idleness  is  really  astounding,  side  by  side  as  it  is 
with  the  hard,  grinding,  unending  labor  from  dawn 
to  dark  of  the  field-laboring  fellaheen.  In  Cairo 
one  sees  idle  men  by  the  scores  of  thousands. 
They  have  not  the  apologetic  air  of  the  idle 
workmen  in  Occidental  countries.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  seem  to  be  idle  and  glad  that  they  are, 
and  they  pass  their  time  gazing  with  idle  curiosity 
at  the  other  idlers.   The  more  active  idler  at  times 

6i 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

makes  some  sudden  movement,  such  as  to  light  a 
cigarette,  and  then  the  idlers  around  him  follow 
his  movements  with  idle  curiosity.  If  a  new  idler 
arrives  and  goes  to  sleep,  the  earlier  idlers  gaze 
upon  him  with  interest  until  he  begins  to  snore. 
It  is  a  common  sight  in  Cairo  to  see  one  man 
doing  nothing  with  five  men  watching  him  do  it. 

As  to  slumbering  idlers,  I  do  not  think  there 
can  be  any  word  for  "  insomnia  "  in  the  Arabic 
tongue.  I  have  seen  men  asleep  here  in  every 
conceivable  posture  and  in  every  imaginable 
place  —  on  the  top  of  a  wall,  leaning  against  a 
camel,  astride  of  a  donkey,  on  top  of  a  fodder- 
heap,  on  an  ambulant  cart,  in  the  shade  by  the 
bank  of  the  Nile,  on  the  parapet  of  a  bridge 
across  that  river,  and  on  the  scorching  stones  of  a 
mosque  quadrangle  at  mid-day  with  the  babble 
of  thousands  going  on  around  the  sleeper.  And 
I  even  saw  a  man  asleep  seated  on  the  lever  of  a 
Nile  water-wheel — one  of  those  primitive  con- 
trivances for  raising  water  from  the  river  into 
irrigating  ditches,  worked  by  a  buffalo  plodding 
in  a  circle,  mercifully  blindfolded  lest  the  crea- 
ture see  whither  it  was  going  and  grow  weary 
of  its  monotonous  task. 

Elsewhere  I  speak  of  lifting  water  for  irrigat- 
ing by  sweeps.     If  the  lifting  of  water  by  such 

62 


A   GLIMPSE    OF   EGYl  __.^ 

primitive  means  seems  odd  in  this  day  and  gener- 
ation, what  do  you  think  of  lifting  it  by  hand  ? 
Yet  even  that  primitive  operation  is  to  be  seen 
from  the  Nile  bridge  near  Cairo.  The  patient 
peasant,  with  bent  back,  stooping  to  the  river 
level,  and  hour  after  hour  lifting  jars  of  water  into 
a  higher-level  irrigating  ditch,  is  a  not  uncommon 
sight.  So,  too,  is  the  crooked  stick  for  a  plow, 
of  which  we  have  all  heard  so  much.  The  Ameri- 
can who  is  used  to  our  elaborate  agricultural 
implements  and  modern  methods  of  farming  is 
amazed.  His  first  thought  is  to  sell  out  his  own 
business  and  at  once  bring  over  here  a  stock  of 
American  agricultural  implements.  But  he  would 
be  doomed  to  bankruptcy.  The  people  here 
prefer  the  crooked  stick.  Very  absurd  of  them, 
doubtless,  but  they  do.  It  is  the  case  in  other 
primitive  countries  besides  Egypt.  They  decline 
the  ingenious  reapers,  binders,  and  headers,  and 
gigantic  gang-plows  of  America,  and  cling  to  the 
crooked  stick,  the  sickle,  and  the  scythe.  Their 
excuse  is  calculated  to  fill  any  "hustling"  American 
with  disgust.  They  say  that  if  they  buy  a  machine 
by  which  one  man  can  do  the  work  of  twenty 
men,  the  other  nineteen  would  have  no  work  to 
do.  This  puerile  argument  makes  them  con- 
tented with  their  degraded  condition. 

63 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Egypt's  peasants  cling 
to  primitive  agricultural  methods,  Egypt  is  cer- 
tainly up  to  date  in  other  things,  such  as  methods 
of  transportation,  railway  bridges,  handsome 
buildings,  and  modern  hotels.  From  the  bent- 
backed  peasant  raising  water  by  hand,  you  may 
lift  your  eyes  to  the  fine  steel  bridge  spanning  the 
Nile,  and  over  it  you  will  see  pouring  at  all  hours 
a  motley  throng — English  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  the  nattiest  of  riding  togs,  mounted  on  fine 
satin-skinned  horses  ;  veiled  harem  ladies  looking 
out  from  the  windows  of  elegant  closed  carriages, 
with  gorgeously  arrayed  saises,  or  running  foot- 
men, in  advance ;  hordes  of  tourists  in  hackney 
carriages  ;  strings  of  camels  and  camel-drivers ; 
dashing  young  Egyptians  in  fezes,  tooling  swift 
automobiles ;  a  four-in-hand  coach  with  a  gay 
party,  bound  from  Cairo  to  the  Pyramids ;  lofty 
loads  of  green  fodder,  depending  from  one  end 
of  which  may  be  seen  the  switching  tail  of  a  minute 
donkey  ;  Cairo  clerks,  mounted  on  bicycles  ;  and, 
through  the  mass,  a  stream  of  peasants  on  foot, 
borne  on  asses,  borne  on  camels,  and  themselves 
bearing  burdens  like  the  beasts  of  burden.  Thus 
you  may  see  the  new  and  the  old  Egypt  on  the 
Nile  bridge. 


64 


**y^  young  Mohammedan  at  prayer  in  the  famous 
alabaster  Mosque  of  Mohammed  All:'' 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    EGYPT 

In  the  citadel  at  Cairo  stands  the  famous  alabas- 
ter mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali,  founder  of  the 
Khedivial  dynasty.  I  am  not  going  to  describe 
it.  Suffice  to  say  that  it  is  a  large  and  beauti- 
ful building,  within  it  a  magnificent  mausoleum 
to  the  first  Khedive.  What  leads  me  to  speak 
of  it  is  the  long  life  of  a  lie.  For  it  is  from  the 
eastern  terrace  of  this  mosque  that  Emin  Bey 
is  said  to  have  made  his  wild  leap  to  the  rocky 
depths  below. 

You  remember  the  old  story — the  massacre 
of  the  Mameluke  Beys.  Mohammed  Ali  scented 
a  conspiracy,  and  invited  them  to  parade  in  the 
court  of  the  citadel.  They  entered  through  the 
Bab-el- Azab  gateway,  mounted  on  their  Arabian 
horses  and  wearing  their  brilliant  uniforms,  the 
finest  cavalry  in  the  world.  But  when  the 
portcullis  fell  behind  them  they  found  the  dark 
walls  spitting  fire.  From  behind  the  battlements 
came  volleys  of  musketry.  They  were  ruthles3ly 
shot  down,  and  soon  the  brilliant  Mamelukes 
were  a  bloody  and  writhing  mass  of  men  and 
horses. 

All  except  Emin  Bey.  He  spurred  his  charger 
over  a  heap  of  bodies  to  the  battlements,  and 
leaped  from  the  dizzy  height  to  the  rocks  below. 

This  is  the  story  the  dragomans  tell.  They 
F  65 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

luxuriate  in  it.  They  roll  it  as  a  sweet  morsel 
under  their  tongues.  They  used  to  point  out  on 
the  old  wall  the  hoof-marks  of  Emin  Bey's 
charger.  But  when  Mohammed  Ali  built  his 
beautiful  alabaster  mosque,  the  old  wall  was  torn 
down  and  a  new  one  took  its  place.  It  is  scarcely 
credible,  but  hoof-marks  have  been  cut  in  it,  in 
order  that  the  guides  may  tell  their  old  story  about 
the  new  wall ! 

It  may  be  interesting  to  add  that  Emin  Bey 
was  not  there  at  all.  Being  warned  of  the  massa- 
cre he  fled  into  Syria  and  there  died  of  old  age. 

But  the  story  of  his  leap  will  never  die  of 
old  age.  There  is  nothing  like  the  life  of  a  lie. 
To  most  minds  nothing  appeals  so  strongly  as 
that  which  is  incredible.  Still  it  is  remarkable 
that  such  foolish  lies  as  this  should  endure. 
That  they  do  is  shown  by  the  grave  way  in  which 
the  guides  show  you  "Joseph's  Well"  in  Old 
Cairo;  "Mohammed's  foot-print"  on  a  stone  in 
the  mosque  of  Kait  Bey ;  and  in  the  ancient 
Coptic  church  in  Old  Cairo,  "the  place  where 
Mary  and  Joseph  rested." 

At  this  Coptic  church,  by  the  way,  the  Chris- 
tian beggars  are  worse  than  the  Mohammedans. 
They  kept  assuring  us  "Me  Christian — give 
me  backsheesh!''     One  particularly  persistent  girl 

66 


Sui^ar-cane  venders  near  Cairo. 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

actually  had  a  cross  tattooed  on  her  wrist,  at 
which  she  pointed  incessantly  to  prove  that  she 
was  indeed  a  Christian — blown  in  the  bottle,  as 
it  were. 

Another  long-lived  lie  is  that  about  the  Caliph 
Omar  and  the  Alexandrian  library.  When  asked 
about  the  books — so  the  story  runs — he  replied 
briefly : 

"  If  the  books  contain  matter  against  the  Koran, 
they  are  heretical.  If  they  contain  matter  that 
is  in  the  Koran,  they  are  superfluous.  Burn 
them."     Which  was  done. 

There  is  a  curious  volume  by  Edouard  Four- 
nier,  entitled  "L'Esprit  dans  FHistoire."  It  at- 
tacks a  great  many  traditions,  among  them  this 
Alexandrian  story.  Fournier  says  that  Caliph 
Omar  burned  no  library  at  all,  and  that  he  did 
not  destroy  the  great  library  at  Alexandria,  be- 
cause it  was  accidentally  burned  before  he  was 
born. 


But  the  season  in  Cairo  is  short.  The  time 
came  when  we  must  quit  Egypt.  It  was  rapidly 
growing  too  hot  for  non-Orientals.  The  so-called 
winter  was  giving  way  to  summer — for  there  is 
no  spring.     Already  the  fields  were  dotted  with 

67 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

wild -flowers.     Regretfully  we  prepared  to  take 
our  leave. 

Ever  since  we  journeyed  southward  from 
Alexandria,  there  have  been  running  in  my  head 
some  lines  from  Victor  Hugo.  I  think  they  are 
in  "  Les  Orientales."     The  lines  run  hke  this  : 

"L'Egypte!  —  elle  etalait,  toute  blonde  d'epis, 
Ses  champs,  barioles  comme  un  riche  tapis, 

Plaines  que  des  plaines  prolongent  j 
L*eau  vaste  et  froide  au  nord ,  au  sud  le  sable  ardent 
Se  disputent  I'Egypte :   elle  rit  cependant 

Entre  ces  deux  mers  qui  la  rongent.'* 

Before  I  had  ever  seen  Egypt  the  lines  had 
always  impressed  me  as  of  exceeding  beauty. 
The  metaphors  are  striking — they  might  be 
paraphrased  thus : 

Egypt  unrolls  her  vast  fields  extending  to  the 
horizon,  plain  upon  plain,  all  flower-bespangled , 
upon  the  North  the  cold  waves  of  the  Mighty  Mid- 
land Sea — upon  the  South  the  hot  waves  of  the 
ardent  Sea  of  Sand — fight  for  the  fair  one.  But 
Egypt,  flower -crowned  and  blonde  with  wheat, 
laughs  at  the  two  seas  gnawing  at  her  sides. 

Now  that  I  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Egypt, 
Hugo's  lines  will  always  have  for  me  an  added 
beauty. 

68 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   EGYPT 

The  subtle  charm  of  the  ancient  land  was  upon 
us.  We  were  loath  to  go.  But  from  "the 
ardent  Sea  of  Sand"  there  came  the  Khamseen — 
the  hot  wind — the  evil  wind.  It  is  a  warning  to 
the  wise  traveler.  So  there  began  a  great  hegira. 
And  wafted  forth  on  the  wings  of  the  Khamseen, 
wandering  wind  from  the  Sea  of  Sand,  we  sailed 
out  on  the  Mighty  Midland  Sea,  and  bade  fare- 
well to  Egypt. 


ALEXANDRIA  TO  NAPLES 

THE  steamships  from  Alexandria  to  Europe 
carry  a  much  more  polyglot  passenger -list 
than  those  from  New  York.  The  Americans  are 
a  well-dressed,  well-to-do,  well-behaved  lot,  but 
they  seem  monotonously  similar.  From  Egypt, 
however,  the  passengers  come  from  every  quarter 
of  the  globe,  and  they  form  a  curious  array. 
There  are  Egyptians  wearing  fezes,  young  Eng- 
lishmen wearing  knickerbockers,  and  youthful 
German  brides  and  grooms  proudly  wearing  their 
trousseaux. 

You  see  some  queer  costumes  among  the 
passengers.  One  young  man  was  attired  in 
sage-green  knickerbockers,  a  short  jacket  with  a 
sealskin  collar,  tartan  stockings,  patent-leather 
slippers,  and  a  velvet  tam-o'shanter  cap.  This, 
to  me,  was  a  new  sea-rig — he  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  Bunthorne.  Another  type  was  a  fat 
and  elderly  Englishman  who  wore  white  kid 
gloves  on  deck,  leaned  on  his  valet's  arm,  and 

70 


ALEXANDRIA   TO    NAPLES 

had  his  face  painted.  He  might  have  been 
Thackeray's  model  for  Joseph  Sedley  in  "Vanity 
Fair." 

The  German  brides  and  grooms  were  a  never- 
ending  source  of  interest.  As  the  lofty  snow- 
capped mountains  of  the  island  of  Crete  were 
sighted  there  appeared  on  deck  a  little  German 
bride  who  had  been  absent  from  her  dearest  for 
at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  With  lover-like 
alacrity  he  springs  forward  to  meet  her,  crying, 
"Ach,  du! —  Hast  du  Crete  gesehen?"  and  they 
repair  to  the  rail  and  try  to  look  at  the  island 
through  one  glass  at  the  same  time — and  fail. 
Alas!  even  love  has  its  limits. 

In  addition  to  fez-wearers  and  other  polyglot 
freaks,  we  have  some  harem  ladies  and  many  titles 
on  board.  The  passenger-list  says  briefly  and 
discreetly:  ^^Harem  (quatre  personnesjJ'  In  an- 
other place:  ^^ 'Trots  dames  du  Harem  du  Prince 
ChawkarJ'  And  there  is  a  ^'Monsieur  Pappado- 
poulis,  sa  dame  Mme.  Pappadopoulis^'  and  four 
little  Pappadopoulises,  together  with  other  Greeks. 
Then  we  have  a  Russian  prince  and  princess,  look 
you;  also  a  Baron  von  Blank  and  a  Baronin  von 
Blank;  likewise  a  baronin  without  a  baron,  but 
with  a  famous  name;  we  have  an  Italian  count 
and  countess,  another  baron  and  baronin  without 

71 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

any  Von,  a  French  vicomte  and  vicomtess,  and  an 
Honorable  Mrs.  and  an  Honorable  Mister — of 
different  ilks.  Then  we  have  an  Oberst  and  a 
Frau  Oberst,  and  also  a  Geheimrath.  Of  these 
last  we  would  possibly  have  been  proud  under 
other  circumstances.  But  not  with  a  Russian 
prince  and  princess  aboard — even  if  they  speak 
to  nobody  except  the  stewards. 

The  prince  and  princess  are  not  only  Russian, 
but  they  bear  a  famous  Russian  name.  There 
are  names  and  names,  and  there  are  princes  and 
princes.  Italian  princes  count  for  little,  Russian 
princes  for  more.  There  is  a  story  told  of  one 
Anatole  Demidoff,  a  Franco-Russian,  rich  but 
low-born,  who  purchased  a  little  estate  in  Tuscany, 
which  carried  with  it  the  title  of  "Prince  of  San 
Donato."  At  first  M.  Demidoff  was  discreet,  but 
he  rang  the  changes  on  his  name  like  plebeian 
Paul  Granier,  whose  father  was  deputy  from 
(de)  Cassagnac,  but  who  dropped  the  plebeian 
Granier,  and  who  now  uses  the  noble-sounding 
"Paul  de  Cassagnac."  M.  Demidoff's  changes 
ran  thus: 

"M.  Anatole  Demidoff,  de  San  Donato.'* 
"M.  Demidoff,  Prince  de  San  Donato." 
"  M.  le  Prince  de  San  Donato." 
"M.  le  Prince  Anatole  Demidoff." 
72 


ALEXANDRIA   TO    NAPLES 

Under  this  name  and  style  he  came  up  for 
membership  in  the  Jockey  Club  of  Paris.  After 
the  Royal  Yacht  Squadron,  this  is  the  most  exclu- 
sive club  in  the  world.  When  his  name  was 
placed  in  the  candidates'  book,  the  secretary  of 
the  Russian  legation  entered  one  day,  walked  to 
the  book,  and  through  the  line  "/<?  Prince  Anatole 
Demidoff''  deliberately  drew  a  heavy  pen.  Under 
it  he  wrote,  ^^ There  is  no  Prince  Anatole  Demidoff^^ 
and  signed  his  name. 

All  Paris  waited  feverishly  for  Demidoff's  sec- 
onds to  be  sent  to  him.  But  none  came.  So 
M.  le  Prince  Anatole  Demidoff  was  unanimously 
blackballed,  and  all  Paris  breathed  again. 

To  return  to  our  traveling  nobiliary  menagerie. 
Probably  the  flower  of  our  titles  is  an  English 
marchioness  and  her  two  daughters.  I  know  she 
is  a  genuine  marchioness,  because  she  has  her 
name  and  title  painted  on  her  steamer-chair  in 
large  black  letters  about  an  inch  long. 

Experts  in  heraldry  do  not  wax  enthusiastic 
over  Continental  titles.  English  titles  are  quoted 
higher  in  the  American  matrimonial  market. 
Among  Continental  ones,  probably  the  Austrian 
rate  the  highest  and  the  Papal  the  lowest.  Even 
when  the  Pope  ruled  the  States  of  the  Church 
his  marquisates  and  dukedoms  did  not  count  for 

73 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

much.  Now  that  he  is  merely  a  spiritual  sover- 
eign, his  titles  go  for  naught. 

If  titles  count  for  little,  orders  count  for 
less.  Papal  and  Turkish  orders  particularly  go 
a-begging.  The  Legion  of  Honor  at  one  time 
stood  high  in  France,  but  it  has  made  Paquin  a 
chevalier.  Fancy  a  knight  trimming  bonnets ! 
When  a  man-milliner  is  made  an  officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  it  remains  a  legion,  but  is  it  a 
legion  of  honor? 

This  recalls  an  anecdote  of  Napoleon  the  Third. 
That  luckless  monarch  was  much  worried  by 
"  politicians  with  pulls "  making  demands  for 
French  election -workers.  In  addition  to  his 
famous  plebiscite.  Napoleon  the  Third  had  many 
queer  elections  to  "  fix."  One  of  the  valued 
government  gifts  in  France  is  a  license  to  sell 
tobacco,  a  bureau  de  tabac.  Tobacco  is  a  gov- 
ernment monopoly,  and  such  a  license  means 
a  small  but  comfortable  living  for  life.  Hence 
these  bureaus  are  greatly  in  demand.  To  Napo- 
leon came  one  day  an  importunate  statesman 
demanding  one  of  these  places  for  a  henchman. 
The  emperor  looked  over  his  list,  but  was  unable 
to  comply.  The  statesman  talked  warningly 
of  dissatisfied  political  workers.  Napoleon's  cor- 
rugated   brow    cleared.     "  I    have    it,"  said   he ; 

74 


ALEXANDRIA    TO    NAPLES 

"  I  can  not  give  your  man  a  tobacco-shop,  but 
I  will  give  him  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor." 


The  Italians  have  a  habit  of  saying  "  The 
April  of  life/'  for  to  them  April  is  the  equivalent 
of  May  in  colder  climes.  But  this  year  the  Italian 
April  was  so  raw,  so  rainy,  and  so  cold  that  one 
required  heavy  clothing  continually.  Ladies 
driving  were  muffled  in  furs,  and  gentlemen  wore 
heavy  overcoats.  Vesuvius  was  covered  with 
snow.  So  were  the  mountains  between  Naples 
and  Rome.  Icy  winds  whistled  over  the  Cam- 
pagna  from  the  Alban  Mountains.  The  curious 
spectacle  was  presented  toward  the  Paschal  fes- 
tival of  ladies  wearing  furs  with  their  new  Easter 
bonnets. 

I  felt  a  little  doubtful  about  putting  on  the 
heaviest  clothes  I  had,  for  it  was  springtime  and 
we  were  in  sunny  Italy.  But  I  met  two  shivering 
Canadians  gazing  with  chattering  teeth  over  the 
Bay  of  Naples  from  Capodimonte,  and  both 
swore  it  was  colder  than  at  Montreal  in  February. 
Then  I  became  convinced  that  it  was  Naples  that 
was  cold,  and  not  myself.  For  if  the  climate 
of  sunny   Italy   can   strike  into  the  marrow  of 

75 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Canadian  Bluenoses,  a  Californian  is  justified  in 
feeling  a  little  chilly. 

The  weather  during  this  Italian  winter  has  been 
execrable.  Over  most  of  Europe  the  weather 
reports  show  that  it  rained  almost  incessantly 
during  January  and  February — except  when  it 
was  snowing.  There  has  been  much  snow,  even 
in  southern  Europe.  During  the  first  week  of 
April  a  man  was  found  frozen  stiff  in  a  Viennese 
street,  and  the  Easter  races  at  Vienna  were  an 
utter  failure,  partly  owing  to  the  villainous 
weather,  and  partly  because  the  horses  had  not 
been  able  to  exercise  on  the  frozen  ground. 
During  the  first  week  of  April  snow  was  still 
lying  in  Vienna's  streets. 

The  climate  of  sunny  Italy  leaves  much  to  be 
desired.  After  a  raw  and  bitter  winter  there  has 
been  apparently  no  spring.  The  winter  lingered. 
Yet  even  in  the  midst  of  a  bitterly  cold  April, 
there  came  a  sudden  change.  The  snow  on  the 
mountains  melted.  The  raw  north  winds  ceased. 
For  a  day  or  two  fitful  eddying  breezes  blew. 
Then  the  wind  was  "up  and  down  the  mast," 
as  sailors  say.  A  sudden  rise  in  temperature 
followed.     And  then  came  a  sirocco. 

This  hot  and  evil  wind  comes  straight  from 
the  great  Sahara.     By  its  long  flight  across  the 

76 


ALEXANDRIA    TO    NAPLES 

Mediterranean  to  France  it  is  made  slightly  hu- 
mid, so  that  when  it  reaches  the  French  Riviera  it 
is  robbed  of  some  of  its  terrors.  Even  then  it  is 
not  loved.  Along  the  French  Riviera,  by  the 
way,  the  dwellers  are  between  two  winds,  the  bitter 
blasts  that  blow  down  from  the  icy  Alps,  and  the 
hot  winds  from  the  African  desert.  They  are 
like  those  who  dwell  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep,  deep  sea. 

In  southern  Italy  the  African  sirocco  comes 
upon  the  inhabitants  like  blasts  from  a  furnace. 
So  was  it  now.  In  Sicily  it  was  at  its  worst. 
From  there  a  Palermo  dispatch  came  telling  us 
that  the  heat  was  awful  and  the  wind  unendur- 
able ;  that  infants  were  dying  from  its  evil  breath ; 
that  the  late-budding  fruit-trees,  the  flowers,  and 
the  fields  were  being  burned  and  scorched  as  if 
by  fire.  Even  some  hundreds  of  miles  further 
north,  the  sirocco  was  severe.  It  swept  tourists 
from  south  to  north  as  if  before  a  broom.  For 
two  or  three  days  it  blew,  and  then  the  temperature 
suddenly  fell.  Torrential  rain-storms  descended 
upon  Italy.  The  Florentine  papers  humorously 
remarked  that  their  streets  had  become  Venetian 
for  the  nonce,  and  cabs  would  give  way  to  gon- 
dolas. The  rivers  rose  rapidly,  and  much  damage 
was  done  by  floods  along  the  Arno  and  the  Po. 

77 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Violent  hail-storms  swept  over  Lombardy  and 
Tuscany,  destroying  growing  crops.  In  Pied- 
mont and  upper  Italy  there  were  snow-storms, 
and  the  thermometer  fell  to  zero. 

On  May  19th  the  Italian  papers  reported  the 
finding  of  the  dead  body  of  one  Luigi  Bernardi, 
in  Bolzano,  on  Lake  Maggiore,  frozen  to  death. 
It  is  true,  he  had  lain  down  to  sleep  on  the  ground 
the  night  before,  while  intoxicated.  But  think 
of  a  man  being  frozen  to  death  toward  the  end 
of  May  ! 

Yet  this  is  the  climate  of  the  Italian  peninsula, 
climatically  the  most  favored  spot  in  all  Europe. 
Compare  it  with  that  of  our  own  fortunate  State. 
More  and  more  it  becomes  apparent  to  me  that 
the  climate  of  California  spoils  one  for  any  other 
in  the  world.  If  Californians  ever  doubt  that 
their  winter  weather  is  the  finest  in  the  world, 
let  them  try  that  of  sunny  Italy.  If  they  have 
ever  grumbled  at  their  gentle  rains,  brought  on 
the  wings  of  mild  winds  from  the  south,  let  them 
try  the  raw  rain,  hail,  snow,  and  sleet  storms  of 
sunny  Italy.  And  then  forever  after  let  them 
hold  their  peace. 

Bad  as  the  weather  has  been  in  Italy,  it  has 
been  better  than  in  more  northern  climes.  This 
is  very  evident  from  the  crowded  condition  of  the 

78 


ALEXANDRIA   TO    NAPLES 

Italian  hotels.  And  not  only  ordinary  tourists 
but  royal  personages  have  been  forced  to  flee  from 
their  own  climates.  At  least  a  dozen  "  royalties  " 
were  in  Italy  during  the  late  winter  and  early  spring 
— from  King  Leopold  of  Belgium  to  Ferdinand 
of  Bulgaria.  The  royal  families  of  England, 
Belgiur(i,  Austro-Hungary,  Sweden,  Russia,  and 
several  grand -duchies  were  represented.  Here 
also  was  Princess  Stephanie,  widow  of  Crown 
Prince  Rudolph  and  daughter  of  the  Belgian 
king.  She  has  married  a  Count  Lonyay,  against 
the  wishes  of  both  her  royal  families,  and  was 
spending  her  honeymoon  in  Italy,  shadowed  by 
reporters. 

Another  royal  highness  was  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  pretender  to  the  French  throne.  This 
list  is  not  given  because  I  believe  these  personages 
to  be  any  better  than  the  uncrowned  kings  of  our 
great  republic.  But  it  shows  what  villainous 
weather  they  must  have  had  in  their  own  coun- 
tries when  they  come  here  in  such  numbers.  For 
there  must  be  a  certain  lack  of  ease  about  foreign 
travel  for  royalty,  as  all  these  royal  personages  are 
here  incognito. 

I  never  was  a  royal  person ;  but  if  I  were,  I 
think  I  would  object  to  stopping  at  the  Grand 
Hotel  just  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith,  of  Podunk, 

79 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

U.  S.  A.  Royalty  should  entertain  royalty,  as 
in  the  old  days.  To  put  up  at  ordinary  hotels 
like  common  folk  "  gives  the  thing  away."  And 
for  Princess  Stephanie  and  her  lover  to  go  billing 
and  cooing  through  Italy,  kodaked  and  snap- 
shotted at  railway  stations  and  hotels,  makes  an 
extremely  comic  royal  honeymoon.  But  royalty 
is  becoming  more  of  an  anachronism  every  day. 
About  the  only  monarch  left  reigning  by  "  divine 
right "  (and  without  any  sense  of  humor)  is 
William,  the  War-Lord  of  Deutschland. 


Naples  flocked  on  Monday  to  the  Campo  di 
Marti  for  the  first  spring  race-meeting  of  the 
"Societa  degli  Steeple  Chases."  The  races  were 
postponed  from  the  preceding  day,  Sunday,  on 
account  of  rain.  In  Latin  countries  races  nearly 
always  take  place  on  Sunday.  In  France,  for 
example,  the  Grand  Prix  is  always  run  on  a  Sun- 
day. 

Not  only  the  name  of  the  Italian  racing  club 
is  half-English,  but  many  English  terms  were 
continually  used.  Here  is  a  sentence  from  a  news- 
paper account  of  the  race:  "Lo  sport  fu  molto 
interessante,  ed  il  betting  animatissimo  per  un 
primo  meeting,'^    Such  words  as  book,  book-makaire, 

80 


'A  street  in  Naples. 


CAU 


ALEXANDRIA   TO   NAPLES 

and  startaire  could  be  heard  on  every  side.  Most 
of  the  horses  had  Italian  names,  but  all  the 
jockeys  who  rode  them  bore  English  names, 
among  them  Goddard,  Jarman,  Chapman,  and 
Wright. 

The  races  were  not  particularly  interesting. 
We  found  the  crowd  in  attendance  more  so. 
There  were  handsome  private  carriages  there  by  the 
hundred,  with  well-groomed  horses,  clean-shaven 
coachmen,  footmen  in  shining  hats  and  handsome 
liveries,  and  natty  grooms  in  spotless  buckskins 
and  trig  top-boots.  We  counted  fifteen  four-in- 
hands.  Among  these  there  were  mail-coaches, 
breaks,  drags,  mail  -  phaetons,  break  -  phaetons, 
and  an  eight-spring  Daumont  caleche  driven  by 
the  Marquis  of  Aqua  Viva — >for  these  were  all 
great  swells  who  were  tooling  the  four-in-hands. 
Among  them  were  many  of  the  Neapolitan  nobility 
and  some  dashing  army  officers.  Of  course,  we 
knew  nothing  of  the  social  standing  of  these 
personages,  but  next  day's  Mattino  gave  a  list  of 
"among  those  present,"  from  which  we  learned 
that  we  had  gazed  upon  Neapolitan  princesses, 
duchesses,  countesses,  marquises,  and  baronesses. 
Or,  as  the  Italian  paper  put  it,  "Nel  ring  mol- 
tissime  dame  della  nostra  aristocrazia." 

The  procession  of  four-in-hands,  tandems,  and 

G  8i 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

carriages  down  the  Via  Roma  and  the  Chiaia  was 
a  brilliant  one.  The .  streets  were  thronged  and 
the  balconies  filled  with  people.  Although  a  fine 
carriage  parade  is  an  almost  daily  sight  in  Naples, 
the  four-in-hands  were  evidently  more  novel.  As 
to  the  attire  of  the  ladies,  although  the  day  was 
raw,  they  had  donned  spring  costumes,  and  many 
wore  straw  hats  with  white  plumes,  which  with 
heavy  furs  made  a  rather  odd  combination. 

To  show  the  use  of  English  terms  by  the  Itahan 
reporters,  I  copy  a  few  lines  about  the  races  from 
the  Carrier e  di  Napoli : 

'*  Abbiamo  notata  la  duchessa  di  Guardialombarda 
con  la  figliuola,  la  baronessa  Barracco-Doria,  en  una 
steach;  la  contessa  Filo  de  Leone,  la  principessa  di 
Spinoso,  la  baronessa  de  Riseis,  la  duchessa  di  Novoli, 
en  uno  steach;  la  contessa  Piscicelli  di  Collesano,  la 
principessa  Pignatelli-Fici,  la  marchesa  de  Medici  Acqua- 
viva-Massa,  la  contessa  de  Marsi,  en  uno  steach-hreack; 
la  baronessa  Silvestri  -  Gcnoino,  la  marchesa  Torre,  la 
baronessa  Angeloni,  la  signora  Ripandelli,  en  uno  steach- 
coach;  la  principessa  Melo-Barese  con  la  figliuola,  en  uno 
mail-coach^  con  quattro  steppheurs^ 

Until  I  came  to  the  end  of  this  paragraph  in 
the  Corriere^  I  had  no  idea  what  a  steach  meant. 
But  it  is  evident  from  the  context  that  the  Italian 
reporter  believed  that  he  was  writing  the  English 

82 


ALEXANDRIA   TO    NAPLES 

word  "stage,"  for  he  subsequently  compounds  it 
with  the  word  "coach."  I  am  confirmed  in  this 
belief  by  the  journal  Bon  Marzio,  which  speaks 
of  the  ^^ stage''  of  the  Marchese  della  Castelluccia. 
This  reporter,  however,  speaks  of  the  Princess 
Melo-Barese's  steppheurs.  He  and  the  other 
reporters  evidently  believed  they  were  using  the 
English  word  "steppers." 

One  of  the  four-in-hands  returning  from  the 
races  pulled  up  at  the  Palazzo  Vittoria.  It  was 
evidently  the  rendezvous,  for  here  the  party  broke 
up.  Some  of  the  ladies  who  lived  in  the  palace 
made  their  adieux,  and  disappeared  in  the  gate- 
way. Others  had  their  private  carriages  waiting 
for  them,  into  which  they  mounted  and  drove 
away.  But  there  were  two  or  three  fashionably 
dressed  couples  who  had  to  take  the  plain,  ordi- 
nary, jay  street-cab  of  Naples — which  is  about  as 
plain,  as  ordinary,  and  as  jay  as  any  cab  in  the 
world.  The  horse,  while  strong,  is  always  a 
scrubby-looking  little  beast;  the  driver  is  some- 
times ragged,  invariably  dirty,  and  the  cab  is  gen- 
erally so.  To  descend  from  a  fine,  well-appointed 
coach,  behind  four  handsome  horses,  with  natty 
grooms  holding  their  heads;  to  be  handed  your 
umbrella  by  an  obsequious  servant;  to  bid  fare- 
well to  a  lot  of  swells;  to  get  into  one  of  these 

83 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

decrepit  cabs,  drawn  by  a  knee -sprung  horse, 
and  tooled  by  a  dirty  ruffian  smoking  a  bad 
cigar — this  certainly  seems  from  a  horsey  point 
of  view  to  be  a  descent  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous. 


The  Naples  newspapers  seem  to  be  thick  as 
leaves  in  Vallambrosa.  There  are  dozens  of 
daily  and  scores  of  weekly  newspapers.  They 
are  little  four-page  sheets,  consisting  principally 
of  gossipy  signed  articles  on  Naples  happenings. 
For  the  rest,  they  are  made  up  largely  of  dis- 
patches from  Rome  concerning  the  proceedings 
of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  The  "local  news" 
of  Naples  is  very  briefly  chronicled.  The  reason 
probably  is  that  most  of  it  is  about  the  unimpor- 
tant half-million  who  make  up  the  mass  of  the 
population,  while  the  upper  ten  thousand  do  not 
stab  one  another  and  get  into  jail.  The  only 
two  "spreads"  or  "sensational  features"  in  the 
Naples  press  since  we  have  been  here  are  the 
races  and  a  row  at  the  San  Carlo.  The  director  of 
this  famous  opera-house  is  one  Signore  Musella. 
The  theatrical  critic  of  the  Naples  journal,  Roma^ 
Signore  Petriccone,  criticised  the  management 
adversely.    As  a  result,  Signore  Musella  fell  upon 

84 


ALEXANDRIA   TO   NAPLES 

the  critic  that  night,  with  intent  to  do  him  griev- 
ous bodily  harm.  But  the  critic  immediately 
"slugged"  him,  or,  as  La  Liberia  puts  it,  gave 
him  "una  buona  dose  di  pugni,"  to  the  great 
edification  of  the  brilliant  Neapolitan  audience 
and  the  amazement  of  two  American  tourists 
seated  near  the  scene.  We  have  been  expecting 
to  hear  of  a  duel,  but  nothing  has  been  shed  but 
ink.  Both  gentlemen  have  printed  sarcastic  let- 
ters in  the  newspapers,  and  there  is  great  pother 
among  the  critical  fraternity. 

By  the  way,  the  newspaper  spoken  of.  La 
Liberia^  styles  itself  "the  organ  of  the  Neapol- 
itan Catholics.'*  Rather  odd  in  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic country,  but  the  church  and  politics  here  are 
inextricably  mixed.  It  is,  of  course,  a  conserv- 
ative journal  and  bitterly  opposed  to  the  extreme 
left,  or  Radicals.  In  a  recent  number  it  con- 
tains a  fierce  attack  on  Gabriele  d'Annunzio, 
the  well-known  novelist,  whose  works  have  been 
translated  and  largely  sold  in  the  United  States. 
D'Annunzio  was  recently  elected  to  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies  as  a  Conservative.  He  has, 
however,  gone  over  to  the  extreme  left,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  crisis  in  the  Chamber.  La  Liberta 
denounces  him  under  the  heading  of  "Alcibiades 
d'Annunzio,"  calls  him  a  renegade,  a  traitor,  an 

85 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

apostate,  and  winds  up  by  saying  that  his  patri- 
cian patronymic  is  bogus,  and  that  the  parochial 
register  shows  that  he  rightfully  bears  the  plebeian 
name  of  Carlo  Rapagnetta. 

//  Giorno,  a  daily  paper,  is  running  articles  by 
D'Annunzio  on  the  political  situation,  at  which 
his  political  adversaries  sneer  as  being  "poetry" 
and  "fine  writing."  They  say  he  is  a  poet  among 
politicians  and  a  politician  among  poets.  Another 
newspaper  item  of  interest  is  that  the  Corriere 
della  Sera  is  running  daily  "II  Cristiano,  Romanzo 
de  Hall  Caine,"  translated  from  the  English. 


Every  tourist  goes  to  see  the  Royal  Palace  in 
Naples,  and  I  shall  not  describe  it  here.  It  is 
like  many  other  royal  palaces  in  Europe — sump- 
tuous and  magnificent.  Palaces  are  very  much 
alike.  But  when  we  were  there  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  Prince  of  Naples  and  his  bride, 
the  heir  to  the  Italian  throne. 

The  House  of  Savoy  considers  it  politic  to  have 
a  member  of  the  royal  family  live  in  each  of  the 
large  Italian  cities.  Thus  there  is  a  semi-regal 
state  kept  up  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Aosta 
at  Turin;  the  Duke  of  Genoa  at  Venice;  the 
crown  prince  and  princess  at  Naples  and  Florence. 

86 


ALEXANDRIA   TO   NAPLES 

The  royal  family  is  thus  kept  ever  before  the 
people's  eyes.  Italy  is  still  unified  only  in  name. 
The  Neapolitans  differ  as  much  from  the  Tuscans 
as  the  Tuscans  from  the  French.  The  old  king- 
doms cling  to  old  associations.  In  every  large 
ItaHan  city  since  1870  some  principal  street  has 
been  called  "Via  Roma,"  after  the  capital,  and 
there  is  generally  another  called  "Via  Umberto," 
after  the  king.  But  the  people  use  the  old  names. 
The  main  street  in  Naples,  for  example,  was  called 
for  centuries  "The  Toledo,"  after  a  Spanish 
viceroy.  Although  officially  denominated  "Via 
Roma,"  the  people  call  it  the  Toledo  still. 

So  the  crown  prince  lives  in  a  corner  of  the 
vast  Royal  Palace  at  Naples  in  order  to  win  the 
Neapolitans'  hearts.  He  is  not  particularly  pop- 
ular, however,  although  he  gives  away  large  sums 
in  charity,  in  prizes  for  race-courses,  etc.  He  is 
reputed  to  have  la  jettatura — the  evil  eye — and 
every  second  Neapolitan  wears  a  charm  against 
that  omen  of  ill. 

Our  visit  to  the  Royal  Palace  was  notable  only 
because  the  prince  and  princess  appeared  unex- 
pectedly in  a  corridor  leading  from  their  apart- 
ments to  the  private  chapel  of  the  royal  family. 
They  were  accompanied  by  several  ecclesiastics, 
and    appeared    so  unexpectedly  that  the   palace 

87 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

guardian  who  was  taking  around  the  two  plebeian 
American  tourists  could  do  nothing  except  to 
"shoo"  his  charges  into  a  little  ante-room. 

The  prince  is  small,  weazened,  and  sickly  look- 
ing. His  bride,  on  the  other  hand,  is  tall  and 
very  handsome.  She  was  Princess  Helena  of 
Montenegro.  The  king  and  queen  do  not  con- 
ceal their  disappointment  over  the  fact  that  this 
marriage  has  not  been  fruitful.  If  the  prince  and 
princess  remain  childless,  the  royal  line  will  pass 
to  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Aosta. 

It  turned  out  that  the  prince  and  princess  were 
a  little  ahead  of  time.  Visitors  are  allowed  in  the 
Royal  Palace  up  to  twelve  o'clock,  and  it  lacked 
{ive  minutes  of  that  hour.  The  guardian  escorted 
us  to  the  staircase,  and  turned  us  over  to  a  gor- 
geous flunkey  in  a  cocked  hat,  scarlet  coat,  plush 
breeches,  silk  stockings,  and  a  gold-headed  staff. 
This  imposing  person  conducted  us  from  the 
staircase  to  the  palace  gateway.  I  had  given  the 
guardian  twenty  cents,  and  it  seemed  unjust  to 
give  as  much  to  the  lackey.  So,  after  wavering  a 
moment,  I  bestowed  upon  him  ten  cents.  This 
the  gorgeous  lackey  accepted  with  great  gratitude, 
and  bowed  low.  I  never  got  such  a  magnificent 
bow  and  so  much  livery  for  ten  cents. 

I  used  to  hesitate  at  times  about  offering  tips 

88 


ALEXANDRIA   TO    NAPLES 

to  uniformed  officials  and  liveried  lackeys.  But 
I  never  knew  one  to  refuse.  In  fact,  the  only- 
time  I  had  a  gratuity  refused  was  in  Paris  once 
at  the  foot  of  the  Eiffel  Tower.  I  was  pestered 
by  a  photograph  vender,  and  finally  to  get  rid 
of  him  I  offered  him  a  copper.  He  drew  him- 
self up  to  his  full  height,  stared  at  me,  and  said  : 
"  Pardoh,  monsieur;  I  do  not  beg — I  seliy  He 
was  the  only  man  I  found  in  all  Europe  who 
refused  an  offered  gratuity,  and  he  was  in  rags. 
Perhaps  he  was  an  anarchist.  And  then,  perhaps, 
he  was  crazy. 


One  of  the  institutions  of  Naples  is  the  estab- 
lishment of  Luigi  Caflisch  on  the  Chiaia.  It  is  a 
curious  composite.  In  a  way,  it  is  the  Huyler*s 
of  Naples,  for  Caflisch  deals  in  confectionery,  and 
of  sweets  the  Neapolitans  are  very  fond.  But  not 
only  does  he  deal  in  confections,  but  also  serves 
tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate,  and  every  afternoon  the 
place  is  filled  with  women  coming  for  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  brioche^  or  some  of  his  many  kinds  of  cake. 
Caflisch  also  serves  liqueurs^  wines,  etc.,  and  a 
great  many  men  drop  in  for  an  aperitif.  With 
the  French  this  is  often  an  absinthe  or  an  Amer 
Picon;   with  the  Italians  it  generally  takes    the 

89 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

form  of  vermouth.  This  cordial  they  drink  in 
rather  an  odd  fashion — in  a  tall  glass  like  a  brandy- 
and-soda  glass,  one-third  vermouth  and  filled  up 
with  siphon  soda-water. 

As  the  women  drop  in  for  their  tea  and  the 
men  for  their  appetizers  at  about  the  same  hour, 
there  are  naturally  a  great  many  meetings.  But 
the  place  seems  to  be  of  unexceptionable  char- 
acter, and  the  people  who  frequent  it  of  the  better 
class.  Ladies  of  position  are  not  seen  in  the 
principal  cafes  here,  like  the  Cafe  Gambrinus, 
Cafe  Staraci,  and  the  Cafe  di  Torino,  although  the 
guide-books  say  that  these  establishments  are 
"  respectable."  But  the  term  applied  to  a  woman 
is  not  high  praise.     So  with  a  cafe. 

The  Italian  has  a  sweet  tooth.  At  Caflisch's 
it  is  not  unusual  to  see  two  or  three  gray- 
mustached  Italian  gentlemen  enter,  pick  out,  one 
a  cream  cake,  another  a  chocolate  puff,  a  third 
a  lemon  cake,  amicably  eat  them  together,  wipe 
their  mustaches,  each  pay  for  his  own,  and  go 
out.  But  a  more  ludicrous  sight  is  to  see  a  tall 
cavalry  officer,  with  nodding  plume,  long  cloak, 
fiercely  bewhiskered,  booted  and  spurred,  and 
with  sword  girt  on  thigh,  enter  the  candy-shop, 
buy  a  nickel's  worth  of  gum-drops,  and  go  out 
eagerly  eating  them. 

90 


■^1 B  R  A  n  p 

09  TALK 

UNIVERSITY 
»^AUF05SS^ 


I 


•5. 


POMPEII 

THERE  is  nothing  new  to  say  about  Pompeii. 
Talk  in  and  of  the  city  stopped  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago.  It  was  resumed  in  the  last 
century,  however,  and  has  continued  ever  since. 
The  little  city  has  been  described  so  often  that 
many  know  it  by  heart  who  have  never  been 
there.  The  wheel-ruts  in  the  stone-paved  streets, 
the  saucepans  containing  beans  and  oil,  the  grid- 
irons with  remnants  of  meat  upon  them,  the  jars 
of  honey — who  has  not  heard  of  all  these  things  ? 
So  there  is  nothing  new  to  say  of  the  old  city 
itself. 

But  stop.  There  is  a  new  house  in  Pompeii 
— at  least  a  house  has  been  newly  uncovered 
since  I  was  there  a  few  years  ago.  It  is  the 
House  of  the  Vettii,  and  it  is  the  largest,  hand- 
somest, and  best-preserved  house  in  Pompeii.  It 
far  surpasses  in  interest  any  of  the  well-known 
sights  of  Pompeii,  such  as  the  House  of  the 
Tragic  Poet,  the  House  of  the  Faun,  the  House 

91 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

of  Pansa,  or  the  House  of  Sallust.  In  1895 
they  were  excavating  in  the  Sixth  Region  in 
Pompeii,  and  it  was  there  that  the  House  of  the 
Vettii  was  uncovered.  This  is  one  of  the  few 
houses  in  Pompeii  which  has  not  been  stripped 
for  the  Museum  at  Naples.  The  government 
keeps  it  intact,  with  all  the  paintings  and  statuary 
in  situ.  There  are  locked  gates  to  protect  it 
from  marauders,  rooms  with  locked  doors  to  pro- 
tect them  from  lady  tourists — or  to  protect  the 
lady  tourists  from  the  locked  rooms.  Differing 
from  most  of  the  Pompeiian  houses  —  which  are 
so  small  as  to  seem  like  little  boxes — the  House 
of  the  Vettii  is  quite  spacious.  The  peristyle  is 
large,  and  contains  numerous  pieces  of  statuary 
and  marble  fountains.  There  are,  also,  some  fine 
marble  tables  in  the  peristyle.  There  is  a  large 
dining-room  which  is  elaborately  frescoed  with 
mythological  scenes,  and  the  work  is  rather  better 
than  most  of  the  Pompeiian  paintings,  which, 
from  an  art  standpoint,  are  frequently  rather  poor. 
There  is  a  dining-room,  several  bed-rooms,  a 
kitchen  with  all  its  utensils,  a  bake-house,  and  a 
bath-room.  All  these  are  on  the  ground  floor. 
The  upper  stories  are,  of  course,  gone.  There 
are  some  fine  mosaic  pavements  in  this  house, 
and  the  peristyle  has  been  laid  out  as  a  garden, 

92 


POMPEII 

as  was  the  Pompeiian  fashion  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago.  Probably  the  House  of  the  Vettii 
more  nearly  reproduces  a  rich  man's  mansion  as 
it  was  than  any  house  in  Pompeii. 

But  if  Pompeii  is  old,  the  people  who  go  there 
are  ever  new.  And  the  number  of  tourists  seems 
to  have  increased  largely.  When  I  was  there 
a  few  years  ago,  there  were  not  to  exceed  a  score 
of  tourists  in  the  ruins;  there  were  only  half 
a  dozen  at  luncheon  at  the  Villa  Diomede,  then 
the  only  tavern  outside  the  Porta  Marina.  Now 
there  is  quite  a  cluster  of  taverns,  and  the  day  we 
were  there  a  long  train-load  of  tourists  alighted — 
nearly  two  hundred.  There  were  so  many  that 
one  official  guide  was  told  off  to  a  score  of  peo- 
ple, while  on  my  previous  visit  every  tourist  had 
a  guide  to  himself  and  there  were  guides  left  over. 

At  that  visit  I  remember  that  some  Italian 
musicians  came  in  to  play  for  us  at  luncheon  at 
the  Villa  Diomede.  I  asked  them  if  they  knew 
the  intermezzo  from  "Cavalleria  Rusticana."  No, 
they  did  not.  Did  they  know  what  the  "  Caval- 
leria Rusticana"  was  ?  No,  they  had  never  heard 
of  it.  Did  they  know  of  the  composer  Mas- 
cagni — Pietro  Mascagni  ?  No,  they  had  never 
heard  of  him,  either.  Yet  at  that  time  all  north- 
ern  Italy   was  ringing  with   the  fame  of  young 

93 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Mascagni,  who  had  been  discovered  by  Edoardo 
Sonzogno,  the  public-spirited  music  publisher  of 
Milan.  But  the  Neapolitan  musicians  had  never 
heard  his  name.     Such  is  fame. 

I  asked  these  modern  troubadours  to  play 
what  they  liked.  There  at  the  gates  of  the  dead 
city  of  Pompeii,  at  the  base  of  the  mighty  moun- 
tain whose  ashes  had  covered  it  so  many  centuries 
ago,  these  Italian  musicians  played  us  "  Daisy 
Bell"! 

This  time  they  began  with  the  "  Washington 
Post  March,"  but  closed  with  the  intei'tnezzo^ 
thus  showing  that  Mascagni  has  "arrived"  at 
Pompeii.  A  musician  is  not  without  honor  even 
in  his  own  country. 

Among  the  large  number  of  tourists,  Germans 
seem  to  preponderate.  We  heard  but  little  Eng- 
lish around  us.  It  was  principally  German,  some 
French,  a  little  Spanish,  and  Italian — for  there 
are  many  Italians  making  the  tour  of  Italy.  The 
Germans  are  very  energetic  sight-seers,  and  very 
vociferous  in  their  admiration  or  dislike.  One 
of  them  became  involved  in  a  heated  altercation 
with  a  guide  as  to  whether  a  certain  statue  was 
that  of  "  Martzelloos,"  or  "Owgoostoos."  De- 
spite the  guide's  protests,  he  insisted  that  it  was 
Owgoostoos,  and  from  the   chorus   of  "ja,  ja," 

94 


I 


^ 


POMPEII 

"ganz  gewiss/'  "nicht  wahr,"  and  the  nods  of  the 
Teutonic  circle,  it  was  evident  that  they  beUeved 
the  German  rather  than  the  guide. 

I  can  not  help  but  admire  the  self-satisfied 
air  of  the  German  tourist.  Sydney  Smith  once 
said  that  he  wished  he  was  as  sure  of  anything  as 
Macaulay  was  of  everything.  But  while  I  admire 
the  German  cocksureness,  I  do  not  envy  them 
its  possession.  They  may  keep  it.  Story  the 
sculptor  lived  many  years  in  Rome,  and  was  a 
good  classical  scholar  and  archaeologist.  He  did 
not  like  the  German  "Yoolioos  Kaiser"  and 
"  Kikero  '*  method  of  pronouncing  Latin.  He 
remarked  sardonically  that  it  was  reserved  for  a 
people  that  had  never  settled  the  pronunciation 
of  its  own  language  to  presume  to  settle  that  of  a 
dead  one. 

But  even  the  gabbling  Germans  with  their 
guide-books  were  silenced  at  times.  We  were 
seated  on  broken  pillars  in  the  Forum,  gazing  at 
the  ruined  temple  of  Jupiter,  which  had  Vesuvius 
for  a  background.  Of  the  two  summits  of  the 
mountain  Monte  Somma  was  black,  while  the 
crater  summit  was  covered  with  a  cone  of  snow 
extending  far  downward  into  the  deep  valleys  on 
its  flanks.  On  the  snow  was  faintly  outlined  the 
dim  zigzag  of  the  roadway.  A  hail-storm  had  just 

95 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

passed  off  to  the  northeast,  clearing  the  atmos- 
phere, which  had  been  misty.  From  the  cone 
there  arose  a  cloud  of  steam  which  was  like  the 
snow,  but  softer  and  more  silvery,  while  above 
this  arose  a  tall  column  of  smoke  broadening  at 
the  top  so  that  it  resembled  a  pine-tree.  Looking 
up  the  slight  incline  of  the  Forum  toward  the 
ruined  temple,  the  massive  columns  and  jagged 
walls  were  sharply  outlined  against  this  back- 
ground of  purple  mountain  and  shimmering  snow, 
of  silvery  steam  and  inky  smoke.  The  sight  was 
a  beautiful  one,  and  it  silenced  even  the  noisy 
Germans  as  they  poured  into  the  Forum. 

In  a  few  moments  the  scene  changed.  Another 
storm  was  coming  up.  Clouds  gathered  round 
the  mountain,  and  soon  it  was  nothing  but  a 
gigantic  shadow  looming  vaguely  through  the 
mist,  while  the  sun  shone  on  the  villages  of  Torre 
del  Greco  and  Annunziata,  and  the  dead  cities  of 
Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  in  the  valley  below. 
And  with  this  picture  in  our  minds  we  turned 
and  silently  left  the  ancient  city. 


96 


^ 


^H 


A   ROMAN    GARDEN-PARTY 

IN  Rome  the  average  tourist  repairs  to  the 
hotel  porter  for  information  as  to  where  to 
go  and  what  to  do.  The  porter  is  thoroughly 
posted  on  museums  and  galleries,  but  he  rarely 
reads  the  papers.  If  the  tourist  also  fails  to  read 
them  he  will  miss  many  things.  Carefully  as  the 
Italian  papers  endeavor  to  omit  the  news,  they 
occasionally  get  some  in  by  accident.  Thus, 
from  a  brief  paragraph  in  La  Tribuna,  we  learned 
that  there  would  be  a  charity  kermess  on  the 
Pincian  Hill  the  following  day. 

As  every  one  knows,  the  Pincian  Hill  of 
ancient  Rome  is  a  pleasure-ground  of  modern 
Rome.  It  is  a  well-kept  park,  with  winding 
drives,  with  trees  and  terraces,  with  flowers  and 
fountains — a  place  where  nurse-maids  and  chil- 
dren go  to  "hear  the  band  play,"  and  naturally 
a  place  where  carahinieri^  hersaglieri^  and  various 
other  kinds  of  uniformed  idlers  also  go  to  ogle 
the  coquettish  nurse-maids.  And,  likewise,  my 
H  97 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

lady  drives  there  in  her  fine  carriage,  and  eke 
silk-stockinged  John  and  Jeames — or,  in  Italian, 
mayhap,  Giovanni  and  Jacopo.  And  it  was  in 
this  beautiful  park  that  the  garden-party  took 
place. 

The  weather  was  superb,  the  scene  ideal.  An 
inclosure  had  been  erected  in  the  Pincian  Park, 
and  within  it  were  numbers  of  unique  booths. 
There  was  a  wheel-of-fortune  booth  presided  over 
by  the  Princess  Sonnino  Colonna,  with  a  half-score 
of  duchessas,  cohtessinas,  and  plain  donnas  to 
assist  her.  There  was  an  Indian  tea  pavilion, 
where  Lady  Currie,  the  British  embassadress, 
presided,  assisted  by  half  a  dozen  ruddy  English 
girls.  There  was  a  cigar  and  cigarette  booth, 
where  the  Marchesa  Marignoli  and  her  noble 
cohorts  sold  very  poor  cigars  at  very  good  prices. 
There  was  a  flower  booth  directed  by  the  Princess 
di  Frasso  D entice,  where  fascinating  Roman 
patricians  pinned  pink  camellias  on  your  coat  at 
ruinous  rates.  There  was  a  Russian  kiosque 
where  the  Princess  Bariatinsky  marshaled  a  num- 
ber of  ladies,  all  of  whose  names  ended  in  either 
off  or  ski^  and  where  only  Russian  knicknacks 
were  for  sale.  There  was  a  Venetian  kiosque 
where  the  Princess  Voriedoges  and  her  ladies  sold 
Murano  glassware.    And  there  was  a  bufl^et  where 

98 


"  The  giant  flunkeys^  massive^  impassive.'' 


A    ROMAN   GARDEN-PARTY 

the  Marchesa  Rudini,  wife  of  the  ex-premier,  and 
a  group  of  noble  barmaids  dispensed  beverages 
at  prices  which  would  make  a  reasonable  degree 
of  intoxication  cost  a  fortune.  There  was  also 
a  cafe-concert  where  a  performance  was  given  by 
a  "grand  international  troupe  of  eccentric  acro- 
bats," all  of  whom  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted 
with  the  audience  ;  the  most  successful  tumbler 
was  Count  Baldassare  Negroni,  who  won  the 
plaudits  of  the  queen.  For  not  the  least  attrac- 
tion was   the  presence  of  Queen   Margherita. 

About  five  o'clock  the  kermess  was  in  full 
swing.  Dapper  officers  were  touting  for  trade  in 
front  of  the  booths.  Other  dapper  officers  were 
whirling  the  wheel  -  of-  fortune  for  the  ladies. 
Handsome  old  gentlemen,  faultlessly  dressed, 
perfectly  groomed,  were  handing  bank-notes  right 
and  left  for  pincushions  and  flowers.  Younger 
gentlemen,  also  faultlessly  dressed,  were  gravely 
whirling  about  upon  wooden  carrousel  horses  in 
the  merry-go-rounds.  Ladies  in  fetching  spring 
gowns  and  picture  hats  were  fluttering  from  booth 
to  booth,  buying  trifles  and  greeting  friends,  and 
there  was  light  talk  and  laughter  on  every  hand. 
Even  the  giant  flunkeys,  massive,  impassive,  whis- 
kered, relaxed  their  stern  features  and  seemed  to 
take  a  faint  and  fleeting  interest  in  the  scene. 

99 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

But  there  was  a  sudden  movement.  The  crowd 
precipitated  itself  toward  one  side  of  the  garden. 
A  double  line  of  uniformed  attendants  was  formed, 
and  up  this  line,  smiling,  bowing,  radiant,  appeared 
Queen  Margherita,  and  through  the  line  she  made 
her  way  to  the  "  Padiglione  a  the  delF  Ambas- 
ciatrice  della  Gran  Brettagna."  There  in  Lady 
Currie's  tea  pavilion  she  held  a  reception  for  a 
time,  and  then  made  the  round  of  the  booths. 

The  queen  was  not  accompanied  by  the  king. 
Humbert's  tastes  are  simple,  and  he  is  rarely 
seen  with  the  queen  on  her  numerous  appear- 
ances in  the  gay  world.  Besides,  he  has  had 
experiences  which  must  have  embittered  him.  At 
Naples  in  1878,  for  example,  Passavante  leaped 
upon  his  carriage-step  and  attempted  to  stab  him 
with  a  dagger  as  he  was  seated  beside  the  queen, 
but  Humbert  felled  him  with  a  blow  of  his  sabre. 
Some  years  later  another  assault  by  the  assassin 
Acciarutio  showed  that  Humbert  is  no  coward. 
But  such  attempts  do  not  make  him  fond  of 
appearing  in  public  with  the  queen,  whose  life 
would  thus  be  also  in  danger. 

The  king  rides  in  the  early  morning  hours, 
and  sometimes  in  the  afternoon  drives  a  light 
phaeton  with  two  spirited  horses,  frequently 
holding   the  ribbons    himself,  and    accompanied 


'4  >. 


" /«  /^(f  Pincian  Park  were  numbers  of  unique  booths.'" 


A   ROMAN    GARDEN-PARTY 

only  by  an  aid.  He  is  then  always  in  civilian's 
garb,  and  his  equipage  has  no  sign  of  pomp. 

The  queen  generally  drives  in  state.  On  the 
Corso  and  on  the  Pincio  her  caleche  is  conspicu- 
ous. The  four  servants  wear  scarlet  liveries,  and 
on  state  occasions  powdered  periwigs  and  silk 
stockings.  One  day  when  we  were  at  the  race- 
track she  drove  out  with  four  horses,  with  postil- 
ions and  a  mounted  escort.  The  queen  was  once 
very  beautiful,  and  is  still  handsome.  She  is  fond 
of  jewels,  and  her  pearls  are  famous.  Her  name, 
"  Margherita,"  signifies  pearl,  and  the  king  each 
year  adds  to  her  collection  of  enormous  pearls. 
The  king's  father  left  debts  of  fifteen  millions 
behind  him,  and  it  took  years  of  economy  on 
Humbert's  part  to  pay  off  these  debts.  He  sold 
off  nearly  all  the  family  lands  to  do  this,  and 
acquired  habits  of  economy  which  stick  to  him 
still.    But  he  never  economizes  in  his  wife's  pearls. 

The  queen  is  not  only  fond  of  the  theatre,  but 
she  is  also  devoted  to  letters,  music,  and  art. 
She  regularly  receives  the  most  notable  new  books 
in  Italian,  French,  English,  and  German ;  she  is 
a  warm  admirer  of  Duse  and  Novelli,  the  two 
leading  Italian  actors,  and  at  her  Wednesday 
evenings  on  the  Quirinal  she  frequently  has 
musicians  of  note  as  her  guests.     She  also  takes 

TOI 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

a  great  interest  in  the  schools  of  art  in  Rome, 
among  them  the  French  Academy  in  the  Villa 
Medici. 

Humbert  and  Margherita  do  not  lack  for 
residences.  They  have  palaces  everywhere — in 
Rome,  the  Quirinal ;  in  Naples,  the  old  palace 
of  the  Bourbon  kings,  as  well  as  the  two  other 
royal  palaces  of  Capodimonte  and  Caserti ;  in 
Genoa,  the  magnificent  Durazzo  palace  on  the 
Via  Balbi ;  in  Florence,  the  Pitti  palace ;  in 
Venice,  the  old  doge's  palace ;  in  Milan,  the 
palace  of  the  former  grand  dukes ;  in  Turin,  the 
palace  of  the  Piedmont  kings,  where  Humbert 
was  born.  At  Monza,*  near  Milan,  they  have 
a  beautiful  summer  residence,  surrounded  by  a 
great  park  miles  in  extent.  Then  in  the  Alps 
of  northern  Italy  they  have  a  mountain  home  at 
Gressoney. 

Humbert  is  hereditary  King  of  Sardinia  and 
Piedmont.  Hence  a  somewhat  anomalous  con- 
dition of  things  in  Italy,  for  not  all  the  Italians 
recognize  him  as  King  of  Italy.  Many  refuse  to 
salute  him  in  his  own  capital  at  Rome.  The 
more  bigoted  Catholics  ignore  him,  and  refuse 
to  cast  a  vote  at  any  election  while  "  the  usurper  " 

*  While   these  pages  were   passing  through   the  press.    King 
Humbert  was  murdered  near  Monza,  by  the  assassin  Bresci. 


A   ROMAN    GARDEN-PARTY 

is  on  the  throne.  Half  the  Roman  aristocracy 
will  not  go  to  the  Quirinal.  Some  foreign  Catholic 
princes  will  not  go  there.  Even  Humbert's 
nephew,  King  Carlos  of  Portugal,  will  not  visit 
him  at  the  Quirinal.  His  sister  Clotilde,  whom 
he  tenderly  loves,  has  refused  to  accept  his 
hospitality  there.  Emperor  Francis  Joseph  has 
never  returned  the  visit  Humbert  made  to  him 
in  Vienna.  Foreign  Catholic  noblemen  who  do 
go  to  the  Quirinal  will  not  afterward  be  received 
at  the  Vatican  until  they  have  first  "  purified " 
themselves  by  calling  on  theip  own  legations  to 
the  Vatican.  For  be  it  understood  that  the 
Roman  Catholic  powers  have  two  embassadors 
to  Rome,  one  to  the  king  and  the  other  to  the 
Pope.  The  ban  of  excommunication  rests  upon 
Humbert  so  long  as  he  occupies  the  former 
Papal  territory. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  while  the  Pope  does 
not  recognize  him  as  King  of  Italy,  he  does  recog- 
nize him  as  King  of  Sardinia  and  Piedmont. 
Therefore  the  king  assists  at  mass  and  receives 
the  sacrament  from  a  Piedmontese  chaplain. 
When  the  Pope  appoints  a  Bishop  of  Turin,  the 
king's  approval  is  necessary  as  King  of  Piedmont. 
On  Humbert's  "Saint's  Day"  the  Vatican  allows 
Te  Deums  to  be  sung  in  the  churches  of  Piedmont, 

103 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Tuscany,  Lombardy,  Venetia,  Sicilia,  and  Sar- 
dinia, as  these  lands  were  taken  from  other  poten- 
tates, and  not  from  the  Pope.  The  Pope  also 
tacitly  permitted  the  Crown  Prince's  marriage  to 
Helena  of  Montenegro,  in  1896,  to  take  place  in 
Rome,  but  in  a  minor  church — Santa  Maria  degli 
Angeli. 

This  is,  perhaps,  dry  reading  after  a  garden- 
party,  but  it  shows  the  curious  condition  of 
"United  Italy,*'  which  to  me  does  not  seem  to  be 
united  at  all.  Humbert's  subjects  speak  of  them- 
selves as  Romans,  Neapolitans,  Tuscans,  and 
Venetians,  rather  than  as  Italians,  and  ugly  ques- 
tions crop  up  continually.  Recently  the  cham- 
bers were  dissolved  almost  in  a  riot  over  one  of 
these  vexed  questions,  and  immediately  the  stu- 
dents all  over  the  kingdom  engaged  in  sympa- 
thetic riots.  At  Foggia  a  royalist  deputy  was 
viciously  assaulted.  Even  in  Rome  there  was 
a  religious  riot  on  the  Corso.  A  popular  priest. 
Father  Theodosio,  was  preaching  in  the  fash- 
ionable church  at  San  Carlo  al  Corso.  A  panic 
occurred  owing  to  the  screams  of  an  hysterical 
woman.  An  anti-clerical  mob  gathered  outside 
of  the  church  and  began  to  shout  "Down  with 
the  priests  !"  A  clerical  mob  gathered  with  coun- 
ter cries,  and  for  a  time  the  Corso  was  blockaded, 

104 


A   ROMAN    GARDEN-PARTY 

and  the  police  had  difficulty  in  dispersing  the 
mob.  And  all  this  took  place  at  a  fashionable 
church  on  the  Largo  al  Corso  in  the  very  heart 
of  Rome. 


105 


ARMS   AND   THE    MAN 

WHAT  first  strikes  the  American  in  Europe 
is  the  number  of  men  in  uniform.  Our 
officers  at  home  and  those  in  England  are  in 
mufti  except  when  on  duty.  But  on  the  Conti- 
nent, officers,  as  well  as  privates,  must  wear  their 
uniforms  everywhere.  As  a  result  you  see  them 
by  thousands  in  the  streets  of  every  large  city. 
The  number  is  swollen  by  the  semi-military 
gendarmery  found  in  all  Continental  countries. 
On  the  streets  there  is  a  continual  saluting  of 
uniformed  men  which  is  so  incessant  that  it  is  at 
times  almost  ludicrous.  When  a  middle-aged  offi- 
cer is  trudging  along  through  the  slush,  a  careworn 
expression  on  his  countenance,  his  wife  on  his  left 
arm,  a  baby  on  his  right,  an  umbrella  in  his  left 
hand,  with  the  rain  pouring  in  sheets  upon  this 
military  family,  it  seems  a  trifle  absurd  for  him  to 
disembarrass  himself  of  baby  and  umbrella  in  order 
to  return  the  salutes  of  four  or  ^ve  stiffly  standing 
soldiers  whose  hands  are  glued  to  their  caps. 

io6 


ARMS   AND   THE   MAN 

But  most  of  the  officers  one  meets  are  not  so 
encumbered.  Probably  marriage  on  their  meagre 
pay  is  impossible.  In  fact,  in  most  Continental 
countries  army  officers  are  forbidden  to  marry 
unless  the  two  spouses  between  them  have  a  cer- 
tain income — so  much  for  a  captain,  so  much  for 
a  lieutenant,  etc.  As  a  result,  many  thousands 
of  able-bodied,  energetic,  and  ambitious  men,  the 
flower  of  the  land,  are  cut  off  from  professional 
and  other  careers,  debarred  from  marriage  and  do- 
mestic Hfe,  and  condemned  to — what?     Loafing. 

For  that  terse  Americanism  expresses  exactly 
the  occupation  of  the  European  army  officer.  In 
England  he  loafs  in  his  clubs,  or,  if  he  loafs  else- 
where, his  attire  renders  him  undistinguishable 
from  other  loafers.  But  on  the  Continent  he  has 
no  clubs,  or,  if  he  has,  he  prefers  to  do  his  loafing 
in  the  cafes  and  on  the  street.  Here  at  all  hours 
of  the  day  you  see  crowds  of  officers  drinking  in 
cafes^  smoking  on  street-corners,  staring  in  shop- 
windows,  leaning  against  lamp-posts,  peering  into 
carriages,  and  ogling  the  women.  They  seem  to 
lead  listless,  lazy  lives,  and  their  home,  apparently, 
is  the  street.  They  remind  me  irresistibly  of  that 
dreamy  lounger,  the  American  police  officer.  Like 
him,  too,  they  are  prepared  for  all  kinds  of  weather. 
They  are  so  used  to  living  on  the  street  that  they 

107 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

can  not  even  go  in  when  it  rains,  and  in  Europe  it 
rains  a  great  deal.  So  they  wear  long  mackin- 
toshes, with  hoods  to  protect  their  caps.  You  see 
a  tall  figure,  cowled  and  shrouded  in  black,  leaning 
against  a  lamp-post,  smoking  a  long  cigar.  The 
rain  streams  over  it  into  the  gutter.  But  the  rain 
stops.  The  sun  shines  again,  and  the  black  object 
steps  into  a  cafe\  sheds  its  caoutchouc  cocoon,  and 
comes  out  again  a  brilliant  military  butterfly,  with 
glittering  uniform,  with  helmet  of  gilt  and  steel,  a 
long  sword  clanging  upon  the  pavement,  in  the 
basket-hilt  of  which  is  a  pair  of  white  kid  gloves. 
And  again  the  warrior  resumes  his  work  —  walking 
the  streets. 

I  said  they  have  no  clubs.  I  mean  in  the 
American  and  English  sense  of  the  term.  In 
Rome  they  have  a  Circolo  Militare,  but  it  is  an 
association  rather  than  a  club.  Papers  are  read 
there  on  technical  subjects  by  those  officers  who, 
weary  of  their  idle  lives,  have  turned  to  study  as 
a  relief  There  is  also  in  Italy  a  Union  Mili- 
tare, but  that  is  merely  a  cooperative  institution 
for  the  purchase  of  all  kinds  of  wares,  like  the 
great  Army  and  Navy  Cooperative  Stores  in 
England. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  military  element 
lends  much  light  and  color  to  the  streets.  Although 

io8 


ARMS   AND   THE    MAN 

there  are  uniforms  more  brilliant  than  in  Italy — 
in  Austro- Hungary,  for  example — the  Italian 
uniforms  are  very  handsome.  The  variety  is 
striking.  You  see  infantry  officers  in  dark-blue 
tunics  with  silver  facings,  blue-gray  trousers  with 
scarlet  stripes,  and  long  blue-gray  cloaks.  You 
see  bersaglieriy  an  elite  rifle  corps,  in  dark-blue  and 
crimson  uniforms,  wearing  round  hats  with  cock's 
plumes  hanging  in  a  large  bunch  from  one  side. 
You  see  cavalry  officers  in  blue  and  gray  uniforms, 
some  wearing  fur  caps,  and  the  Savoy  regiments 
wearing  gold  -  crested  steel  helmets.  You  see 
artillery  officers  in  blue  and  yellow,  engineer  offi- 
cers in  blue  and  crimson,  the  royal  body-guard  in 
blue  and  silver,  and  finally  you  see  the  royal 
horse-guards,  imposing  creatures  in  helmets  with 
black  horse-hair  plumes,  steel  cuirasses,  white 
leather  breeches,  and  high  boots.  Then  there 
are  the  carabinieri,  or  gendarmes^  who  wear  a  sim- 
ple, old  -  fashioned  uniform  —  long-skirted  coat, 
cocked  hat,  pipe -clayed  belt  and  scabbard.  It 
is  quaint  and  effective. 

What  we  would  call  the  police  officers  wear 
different  uniforms  in  different  cities.  In  Rome 
their  uniform  is  much  like  that  of  the  infantry 
of  the  line,  which  adds  to  the  apparent  number 
of  military  in  the  streets.     In  other  Italian  cities 

109 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

they  wear  various  costumes,  probably  dating  from 
the  days  before  United  Italy.  In  Genoa  their 
garb  is  indeed  extraordinary.  They  wear  long, 
black  surtout  coats,  cut  like  what  our  tailors  call 
a  Newmarket  or  paddock  coat.  The  costume  is 
crowned  with  a  "  stove-pipe  hat."  This  seems 
incredible,  but  it  is  true.  When  it  rains  they 
substitute  a  cap  for  the  stove-pipe. 

In  addition  to  the  military,  the  rural  gendarm- 
ery,  and  the  municipal  police  officers,  practically 
all  government  employees  wear  semi -military 
uniforms.  Firemen,  custom-house  officers,  post- 
office  clerks,  postal-wagon  drivers,  railway  em- 
ployees (the  railways  belong  to  the  government), 
telegraph  employees  (the  telegraph  belongs  to  the 
government  also),  octroi  employees — all  of  these 
men  are  in  uniform.  And  people  who  are  fond 
of  advocating  government  ownership  of  railroads 
and  telegraphs  ought  to  try  it  over  here.  These 
petty  officials  in  brass  buttons  are  so  swollen 
with  bureaucratic  importance  that  they  are  not 
even  civil.  The  railways  do  not  advertise  their 
time-tables,  or  anything  else  for  that  matter.  If 
you  want  to  find  out  details  concerning  trains, 
rates  of  fare,  rates  on  luggage  by  passenger  train, 
rates  on  luggage  by  fast  freight,  rates  on  luggage 
by  slow  freight,  rates   for    transporting    luggage 


ARMS   AND   THE    MAN 

from  station  to  domicile  in  railway  vans — well, 
you  may  succeed  if  you  are  persistent,  but  you 
will  get  little  help  and  much  insolence  from  the 
railway  officials.  If  you  purchase  a  sleeping-car 
coupon  with  a  first-class  ticket  you  are  entitled, 
under  the  law,  to  demand  that  a  sleeping-car  be 
placed  on  the  train,  even  if  you  are  the  only  pas- 
senger. But  the  railway  officials  will  never  tell 
you  of  your  rights.  I  found  this  out  from  a 
tourist  agency,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  compel- 
ling the  railway  officials  to  put  on  a  sleeping-car 
for  our  special  use  and  behoof. 

As  for  the  telegraph,  the  government  plainly 
says  on  its  blanks  that  it  is  not  responsible  for 
anything — errors  in  transmission,  failure  to  trans- 
mit, battle,  murder,  sudden  death,  pestilence, 
famine,  or  act  of  God.  If  you  send  high-priced 
cablegrams  by  the  Italian  government's  telegraph 
service  you  had  better  demand  a  receipt  for  the 
money.  A  receipt,  by  the  way,  will  cost  you 
twenty-five  centesimi  extra.  An  American  in 
Italy  recently  complained  of  having  sent  six  cable- 
grams to  the  United  States  in  one  month,  five 
of  which  were  never  received.  Probably  the 
employees  pocketed  the  money  and  threw  the 
cablegrams  in  the  waste-basket.  The  post-office 
so  distrusts  its  employees  that  they  have  a  contri- 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

vance  for  emptying  letter-boxes  by  which  the 
letters  are  slid  from  the  locked  box  into  a  bag 
with  a  locked  top,  so  that  the  employee  cannot 
handle  them.  Newspaper  boxes  are  emptied  into 
a  bag,  as  in  our  country.  The  government  rail- 
ways have  so  poor  an  opinion  of  their  brass- 
buttoned  employees  that  they  will  accept  no 
luggage  unless  it  has  strong  locks  upon  it. 
Even  with  that  precaution  there  are  so  many 
thefts  from  trunks  on  Italian  railways  that  prudent 
people  insure  their  luggage. 

Why  is  Italy  so  poor  ?  Why  is  official  honesty 
at  so  low  an  ebb  that  she  can  not  trust  even  her 
own  government  employees  ?  Why  is  it  unsafe 
to  hand  a  letter  to  a  postal -carrier  to  post,  lest  he 
should  steal  the  stamps  ?  The  answer  is  simple. 
It  is  because  of  the  brilliant  uniforms  which  give 
color  to  the  streets ;  of  the  vast  number  of  sol- 
diers who  live  upon  the  tax -payers.  For  every 
idle  officer  loafing  at  a  cafe^  three  or  four  men  are 
working  hard  to  earn  his  living  and  their  own. 
The  unfortunate  country  is  ground  down  with 
taxation.  There  is  nothing  that  is  untaxed.  Even 
the  food  you  eat  pays  a  double  tax — once  to  the 
state  and  again  to  the  city.  The  very  sunlight  is 
taxed,  for  there  is  a  heavy  tax  on  windows. 

California  and  Italy  are  about  the  same  size. 


ARMS   AND   THE   MAN 

Roughly  speaking,  California  contains  about 
150,000  square  miles,  Italy  about  120,000  square 
miles.  They  are  not  dissimilar  in  physical  char- 
acteristics.. They  extend  over  a  long  distance 
from  north  to  south,  and  each  has  an  extensive 
coast  line.  Each  is  destitute  of  coal  mines.  Each 
produces  large  quantities  of  wheat.  Each  pro- 
duces citrus  and  other  fruits,  olives,  wine,  and 
raisins.  The  climate  is  about  the  same,  although 
California's  is  superior.  They  are  in  about  the 
same  zone.  Rome  lies  in  about  the  same  latitude 
as  San  Francisco.  Our  State  is  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  fertile  of  all  the  United  States.  Yet 
suppose  that  California  were  as  populous  as 
Italy — some  day  it  will  be.  Suppose  it  had  a 
population  of  millions.  Could  California,  even 
with  its  vast  resources,  support  an  army  of  a 
quarter  of  a  million  men  as  Italy  does  P  She 
could  do  it  only  as  Italy  does,  by  grinding  the 
people  into  the  dust  with  oppressive  taxation. 

It  is  a  fact  that  Italy — about  the  size  of  Cali- 
fornia— has  over  200,000  men  under  arms,  with 
a  reserve  of  2,000,000  more.  She  also  has  a 
large  and  costly  navy. 

The  Italian  government  is  much  concerned  at 
the  enormous  emigration.  They  try  to  stop  it, 
but  it  can  not  be  stopped.  The  young  men  flee 
I  113 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

to  avoid  conscription.  Recently  some  Italian 
chemists  were  arrested  for  selling  drugs  which 
enabled  young  men  to  feign  chronic  maladies  so 
skillfully  as  to  avoid  conscription.  This  is  another 
symptom  of  the  army  ulcer  which  is  eating  into 
Italy. 

Of  course,  every  one  in  America  knows  these 
things.  We  know  them  on  paper.  But  there  is 
nothing  like  seeing  them.  They  had  grown  dim 
in  my  memory  since  I  was  last  in  Europe.  But  a 
glimpse  of  militarism  revives  my  old  impressions. 
Here  it  is  hated  and  dreaded.  The  ambitious 
and  energetic  flee  from  it  and  go  to  other  lands. 
The  Germans  in  America  are  a  type  of  this  class. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  the  menace  of  militarism  in 
our  own  country  is  arousing  such  distrust  and 
hostility  among  our  naturalized  citizens  of  Eu- 
ropean birth.  In  Europe,  militarism  is  a  black 
and  blighting  shadow.  May  it  never  fall  across 
our  republic's  onward  way. 


114 


A  ROMAN  RACE-COURSE 

AT  the  spring  race-meeting  of  Rome  the  prin- 
^*>  cipal  races  are  the  "Steeple-Chase  Nazionale," 
the  "Grand  Steeple -Chases  di  Roma,"  and  the 
"  Derby  Reale."  The  English  tinge  to  the  sport 
may  be  inferred  from  these  Anglo-Italian  titles. 
The  stewards  of  the  course  bore  ancient  names. 
They  were  Prince  Colonna,  Prince  Doria,  and 
Prince  Rosano.  A  number  of  other  princes, 
marquises,  and  counts  held  ornamental  positions, 
but  I  observed  that  the  starter  was  a  plain  Amer- 
ican named  George  Bartlett.  The  Royal  Derby 
prize  of  24,000  lire  was  won  by  the  Italian  horse 
Cloridano.  It  was  quite  evident  that  the  jockey 
who  rode  the  horse  was  not  a  "  Romano  di 
Roma,"  for  his  name  was  Jones. 

It  would  be  useless  to  give  the  time  of  these 
races,  for  the  distances  are  all  in  metres,  and 
comparisons  with  our  races  in  miles  would  be 
difficult.  There  were  no  book-makers'  stands  at 
this  Roman  race -track,  but   the    public   betting 

115 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

was  all  done  on  the  mutual  plan  at  stands  called 
by  the  Italians  "  totalizzatori."  This  is  similar 
to  the  French  system  once  in  use  on  our  race- 
tracks called  "  Paris  Mutuals."  It  may  be  still 
in  use.  Horsemen  are  not,  as  a  rule,  strong  in 
philology;  this  phrase,  paris  mutuels — "mutual 
wagers" — was  by  them  universally  beheved  to 
mean  a  form  of  betting  peculiar  to  Paris. 

The  prices  of  admission  are  higher  than  on 
our  tracks.  The  tariff  (in  American  money)  was 
as  follows : 

Admission   to  course i^-io 

Admission  to  the  reserved  stand  — 

Gentlemen 4.00 

Ladies 2.00 

Officers  in    uniform 2.00 

Admission  to  seat  in  covered  pavilion 40 

Admission  to  seat  in  uncovered  pavilion  (bleachers)     .20 

Admission    four-horse   vehicle :   .      8.00 

Admission  two-horse  vehicle 4.00 

Admission  automobile 4.00 

Admission  bicycle 20 

The  scene  at  the  race-course  was  an  animated 
one.  Overlooking  the  quarter-stretch  were  the 
royal  tribune,  the  tribunes  of  the  various  racing 
clubs,  and  the  reserved  grand  stand,  or  "Tribuna 
Reservata."       In  front  of  these    tribunes    there 

116 


A    ROMAN    RACE-COURSE 

promenaded  a  brilliant  throng.  In  addition  to 
Roman  swelldom,  there  was  the  foreign  and  diplo- 
matic colony,  which  is  large.  There  were  also 
some  visiting  personages,  such  as  the  Grand 
Duke  of  Mecklenburg.  Several  members  of  the 
Italian  royal  family  were  present  to  receive  the 
king  and  queen.  Both  houses  of  the  ItaHan  par- 
liament were  represented,  and  many  titled  sports- 
men came  from  Florence,  Naples,  and  Turin. 
Upon  the  rich  carpet  of  greensward  there  gathered 
gay  groups  in  the  paddocks,  and  between  the 
races  numerous  parties  seated  themselves  at  tables 
in  the  open  air  and  partook  of  hearty  luncheons 
washed  down  with  champagne.  Some  of  the 
noble  Roman  dames  have  very  fine  appetites  I 
observed. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  track,  in  the  centre  of 
the  field,  there  was  a  similar  yet  a  different  scene. 
It  was  the  Roman  populace,  also  eating  and  drink- 
ing, although  not  in  so  dainty  a  way.  But  it  was 
infinitely  more  amusing  than  the  aristocratic 
gathering.  Booths  had  sprung  up  like  mush- 
rooms, and  here  the  Roman  populace  was  filling 
itself  with  macaroni  and  spaghetti,  with  risotto 
and  ravioli,  with  yard -long  loaves  of  bread,  with 
strange  stews  of  kid's  flesh  and  veal,  with  mysteri- 
ous sausages  like  mortadella,  and  with  white  and 

117 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

red  Chianti  wine — and  a  great  deal  of  it.  For  I 
regret  to  state  that  a  large  part  of  the  Roman 
populace  was  intoxicated.  If  the  "Senatus  Ro- 
manus"  drank  French  champagne,  the  "Populus 
Romanus"  drank  the  wine  of  the  country.  All 
over  the  field  were  gathered  groups  of  men,  red 
in  the  face,  flushed  with  wine,  and  shaking  their 
clenched  fists  in  each  other's  faces  with  loud 
shouts.  But  they  were  not  fighting.  They  were 
only  playing  morro^  the  national  game,  which 
apparently  consists  in  quickly  guessing  the  num- 
ber of  unclosed  fingers  in  the  opponent's  partially 
closed  hand.  The  crowd  seemed  to  be  good- 
humored,  if  intoxicated,  and  I  saw  no  fights. 

But  a  ripple  of  excitement  sweeps  over  the 
quarter-stretch,  and  hats  go  off^  like  magic.  It 
is  the  king,  who  drives  himself  in  his  phaeton, 
accompanied  by  a  single  aide-de-camp.  A  few 
moments  afterward  arrives  the  queen,  accom- 
panied by  the  Princess  Pignateli  Strongola  and 
a  gentleman-in-waiting;  to-day  she  has  postilions 
and  outriders.  After  a  brief  period  another  car- 
riage brings  the  queen's  mother,  the  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Genoa.  They  are  met  by  one  of  the 
royal  family,  the  Count  of  Turin,  the  stewards 
of  the  course,  and  the  Syndic  of  Rome,  who 
usher  them   to   the  royal   tribune,  whence   they 

ii8 


'^\  B  R  A  «  yT 

or  T«« 

UNIVERSITY 


■ 

■■ 

1 

1                         -^  ^^^'iffiif 

1 

^ 


5< 


A   ROMAN    RACE-COURSE 

follow  with  interest  the  course  of  the  Royal 
Derby.  The  king  was  carefully  dressed  in 
ordinary  afternoon  garb — silk  hat  and  frock 
coat. 

To  me  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  races 
was  the  return.  Races  are  very  much  the  same 
all  the  world  over,  whether  at  Epsom  or  Long- 
champ,  at  Morris  Park  or  at  Ingleside.  But 
the  setting  of  these  Roman  races  was  very  differ- 
ent. Around  us  stretched  for  miles  the  rolling 
Roman  Campagna,  for  we  were  at  Cappanelle, 
some  five  miles  out  of  Rome.  To  the  east  lay 
the  Alban  Mountains,  their  flanks  covered  with 
villas  and  villages  clearly  outlined  through  our 
field-glasses.  To  the  northwest  the  great  dome 
of  St.  Peter's  seemed  suspended  like  a  ball  over 
the  city  of  Rome.  Hard  by  there  ran  for  miles 
the  arches  of  a  ruined  Roman  aqueduct.  To  the 
left  of  the  Via  Appia  Nuova,  over  which  we 
drove,  there  could  be  seen  outlined  against  the 
sky  the  beautiful  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella  on  the 
old  Appian  Way.  It  was  on  the  new  Appian 
Way  that  we  drove  to  and  from  the  races.  I 
noted  an  ancient  milestone,  moss-covered,  earth- 
embedded,  on  which  I  could  faintly  trace  the 
words  "Via  Appia  Nuova."  Yet  this  new 
Appian  Way  is  centuries  old. 

119 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Toward  the  old  city  we  whirled  along  over 
this  new-old  way.  At  first  we  saw  only  the  soli- 
tary hostelry  of  the  Cappanelle.  But  as  we 
neared  the  city  the  osterias  grew  thicker.  At 
every  wine-shop  rows  of  chairs  at  the  door  and 
rows  of  heads  on  the  walls  betokened  the  interest 
of  the  people  in  the  return  from  the  races.  As 
we  neared  the  city  wall  and  the  gate  of  San 
Giovanni,  the  crowd  formed  a  continuous  line 
on  either  side  of  the  roadway.  The  mounted 
carabinieri  had  much  ado  to  keep  the  passage 
clear,  and  as  the  long  line  of  carriages  dashed 
through  the  gate  and  by  the  beautiful  church  of 
St.  John  Lateran,  the  great  square  in  front  of  it 
was  packed  with  people.  From  there  on,  all  the 
way  into  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  even  up  the 
Corso,  there  were  throngs  of  people  waiting  to 
see  the  carriage  parade  returning  from  the  races. 
They  crowded  the  chairs  in  front  of  the  cafes. 
They  lined  the  edges  of  the  sidewalks.  They 
even  stood  in  the  streets.  One  might  have 
imagined  it  to  be  a  rising  of  the  Roman  people, 
but  it  was  nothing  but  a  childlike  Roman  crowd. 

Once  before  I  had  driven  in  from  the  Cam- 
pagna  after  viewing  the  Roman  picnic  known  as 
the  feast  of  the  '*  Divino  Amore."  We  were 
greeted  on  our  return  by  a  similar  curious  crowd. 

I20 


■5, 


A   ROMAN   RACE-COURSE 

I  thought  at  the  time  that  it  was  due  to  the 
importance  which  the  Romans  attach  to  this  dis- 
tinctively Roman  festival.  But  since  our  return 
from  the  races  I  have  concluded  that  it  is  a 
common  occurrence.  For  whenever  anything 
takes  place  on  the  Campagna,  half  Rome  goes 
out  to  see  it,  and  the  other  half  goes  out  to  see 
them  come  back. 


121 


THE    GRAVE    OF    ROMULUS 

W  EARLY  there  takes  place  in  the  Forum 
^  a  curious  festival — the  celebration  of  the 
"  Birthday  of  Rome."  Why  the  modern  Ro- 
mans originally  selected  the  twenty-first  of  April 
for  this  anniversary  I  do  not  know.  While  they 
were  about  it  they  might  as  well  have  said  that 
Rome  was  founded  on  the  twenty-first  of  April, 
753  B.C.,  at  3: 17  P.M.  I  believe  it  was  the  pious 
Archbishop  Usher  who,  in  his  Biblical  chro- 
nology, gave  the  exact  time  of  day  when  Adam 
was  created. 

Probably  the  Italian  government  was  impelled 
this  year  to  cook  up  some  kind  of  a  special 
celebration  as  a  counter-check  to  the  rival  shop 
over  the  way.  For  the  Vatican  was  a  human 
ant-hill  and  St.  Peter's  was  in  full  blast.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Quirinal  Hill  was  deserted — even 
the  Baedeker  palmers  went  across  the  Tiber  to 
join  the  pious  pilgrims.  Something  had  to  be  done. 
The  king  must  not  be  entirely  eclipsed  by  the 

122 


Si, 


Co 


s 


■5. 


I 


I 


THE   GRAVE    OF   ROMULUS 

Pope,  so  Premier  Pelloux  hatched  up  this  scheme 
of  an  extraordinary  celebration  of  the  "  Birthday 
of  Rome."  It  should  take  place  in  the  Roman 
Forum ;  the  Roman  school  -  children  should  be 
marshaled  there  ;  and  in  the  excavations  the  day 
before  the  celebration  the  engineers  should  un- 
cover the  grave  of  Romulus. 

It  was  not  a  bad  idea.  It  was  well-conceived 
and  dramatic.  But  from  an  ultramontane  stand- 
point it  would  seem  to  be  bad  politics.  This 
pitting  of  the  monarchy  against  the  Papacy,  of 
the  king  against  the  Pope,  of  the  Forum  against 
the  Vatican,  must  to  the  minds  of  the  faithful 
irresistibly  suggest  Pagan  Rome  as  against  Chris- 
tian Rome. 

The  celebration  took  place  according  to  pro- 
gramme. The  day  was  beautiful.  The  Forum 
was  open  only  to  the  school-children,  the  officials, 
and  the  invited  guests — many  foreigners  obtain- 
ing tickets  through  their  embassies.  Before  the 
arrival  of  the  king  and  queen  the  school-children 
poured  into  the  Forum,  each  of  the  various  lyce- 
ums  and  institutions  headed  by  its  banner-bearer. 
To  the  Forum's  edge  on  the  Via  Bonella  many 
strangers  drove  down  even  at  the  early  hour  of 
nine  o'clock  to  view  this  curious  sight.  The 
students  were  addressed  by  archaeologists  in  Latin 

123 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

and  in  Italian.  Doubtless  these  discourses  were 
of  extreme  interest,  but  we  could  not  hear  them 
where  we  were,  nor  could  we  have  understood 
them  had  we  heard  them. 

An  hour  later  the  invited  guests  poured  into 
the  Forum,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  king  and 
queen.  The  "recinto"  surrounding  the  Forum 
— which  in  America  we  would  call  a  rail  fence — 
marked  the  limits  of  a  dense  mass  of  people. 
Heads  protruded  from  the  windows  of  all  the 
old  houses  overlooking  the  Forum.  The  roofs 
of  the  palaces  on  the  Capitoline  Hill,  and  even 
the  towers  of  the  Senate  House,  were  black  with 
people.  The  small  boys  of  Rome  shinned  up  on 
dead-and-gone  Caesars'  columns  as  recklessly  as  at 
home  they  do  upon  the  humble  lamp-posts. 

A  movement  like  a  wave  ran  over  the  vast 
crowd.  The  notes  of  the  royal  fanfare  were 
sounded  by  the  trumpeters.  The  well-known 
scarlet  liveries  appeared  on  the  Via  San  Teodoro, 
and  the  king  and  queen  appeared  amid  the  cheers 
of  the  populace.  Upon  a  scaffolding  outside  the 
barrier  near  the  site  of  Santa  Maria  Liberatrice 
stood  a  crowd  of  young  women  bearing  red- 
bound  guide-books.  They  cheered  frantically, 
and  gave  the  "Chautauqua  salute"  with  their 
handkerchiefs.     Although    not   in  it,  they  were 

124 


: 


THE    GRAVE    OF   ROMULUS 

determined  to  be  of  it.  The  king  and  queen 
were  followed  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
their  household  and  the  military  officials  attached 
to  the  court.  They  were  received  by  the  Syndic 
of  Rome,  Prince  Colonna ;  Signore  Boni,  the 
engineer  directing  the  excavations ;  and  Professor 
Cinquini,  the  archaeologist  in  charge.  A  brilliant 
suite  followed  them,  including  the  diplomatic 
corps. 

The  royal  pair  were  first  taken  to  the  Basilica 
Emilia  and  were  then  led  to  the  House  of  the 
Vestals,  where  some  new  discoveries  had  just  been 
made ;  from  this  point  they  could  survey  the 
remains  of  a  Greek  church  newly  uncovered  on 
the  flanks  of  the  Palatine  Hill. 

But  the  honne-houche  of  this  Roman  repast  was 
the  serving  up  to  them  of  the  grave  of  Romulus. 
Not  the  tomb,  look  you — one  could  stand  a 
tomb — but  the  grave.  Not  many  months  ago 
a  piece  of  black  marble  pavement  was  uncovered 
which  enthusiastic  archaeologists  at  once  iden- 
tified as  the  grave  of  Romulus,  because  ancient 
authors  speak  of  it  being  marked  by  a  "  black 
stone."  The  day  before  the  celebration  a  new 
piece  of  pavement  was  uncovered,  which  settled 
the  matter.  To  this  the  king  and  queen  were 
led    by  the   engineer    and    the    professor,   gazed 

125 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

at  the  black  stone  with  due  reverence,  read  the 
inscriptions,  and  were  doubtless  much  impressed. 
At  least  the  queen  seemed  to  be.  She  was  very- 
enthusiastic,  and  vowed  that  this  official  visit  would 
not  satisfy  her ;  she  told  the  gratified  engineer  that 
she  would  surely  return  incognita  and  make  a  more 
thorough  inspection  under  his  guidance  at  some 
later  day.  She  is  a  smart  queen.  Margherita 
knows  her  business. 

The  king,  who  is  less  impressionable,  promised 
to  send  Minister  Baccilli  to  look  into  matters,  and 
see  if  the  excavations  could  not  be  expedited.  For 
Italy  is  poor,  and  these  archaeological  researches 
cost  a  great  deal  of  money.  The  king  also  con- 
ferred upon  Engineer  Boni  the  title  of  Com- 
mendatore,  and  upon  Professor  Cinquini  that  of 
Cavaliere,  and  amid  the  cheers  of  their  loyal 
subjects  and  the  frenzied  acclamations  of  the 
Baedeker  maidens  on  the  scaffolding,  their  majes- 
ties withdrew. 

The  very  next  day,  as  a  counterblast  to  this 
Quirinal  attraction.  Pope  Leo  left  the  Vatican, 
came  down  into  St.  Peter's,  and  blessed  ten  thou- 
sand people  all  in  one  lump.  Five  thousand  of 
them  were  pilgrims  and  five  thousand  were  mixed. 
At  this  writing  the  volatile  Roman  populace  in- 
clines toward  the  Vatican  again. 

126 


MODERN   PILGRIMS 

ALL  roads  lead  to  Rome.  All  the  Roman 
^  roads  are  crowded.  And  Rome  is  full 
of  pilgrims.  They  are  of  two  kinds — guide- 
book pilgrims  and  prayer  -  book  pilgrims,  or 
Baedeker  pilgrims  and  St.  Peter  pilgrims. 
Of  the  two,  the  Baedeker  pilgrims  are  cer- 
tainly the  cleaner,  though  possibly  less  pious. 
They  are  here  in  swarms — I  had  almost  said 
streams,  for  at  any  converging  point  in  the  Ro- 
man microcosm  you  see  tourists  in  cabs  pouring 
through  the  opening  in  streams,  like  water  running 
out  of  an  irrigating  ditch  or  grain  out  of  a  hopper. 
The  sight  is  amazing.  Hour  after  hour  there 
streams  by  this  curious  mass  of  humanity  in  cabs. 
Its  general  tone  is  elderly,  and  women  predomi- 
nate— elderly  women  with  gray  hair  and  specta- 
cles. Mingled  with  these  are  large  numbers  of 
young  women — among  them  the  girly-girl  who 
has  "  finished  her  education,"  delivered  her  vale- 
dictory,   and    sallied    forth    to   view    the   world 

127 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

through  her  eighteen-year-old  eyes,  and  to  ex- 
press surprise  and  disapproval  when  she  finds 
manners  and  customs  differing  from  those  in  her 
native  village.  Then  there  is  the  other  type 
of  young  woman.  She  is  about  thirty,  has  seen 
many  social  seasons,  is  still  unwed,  and  is  now 
beginning  her  education  instead  of  finishing  it, 
like  her  eighteen-year-old  sister.  She  is  pains- 
taking in  her  study  of  art,  and  is  often  an  ardent 
art-lover.  I  was  going  to  say  enthusiastic,  but 
the  veteran  maiden  has  but  little  enthusiasm  left. 
Yet  she  is  a  nice  girl — much  nicer  than  her 
eighteen-year-old  sister,  more  sensible ;  not  so 
prone  to  say  that  Rome  is  "real  nice,"  and 
less  inclined  to  hysteric  shrieks  and  girly-girl 
giggles. 

Among  the  Baedeker  pilgrims  there  is  quite 
a  sprinkling  of  hobbledehoy  youths  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen ;  men,  however,  are  in  a  notable  minority. 

The  elderly  women  predominate.  I  shall 
always  carry  away  an  indelible  impression  of  this 
visit  to  Rome — that  of  a  stream  of  elderly  women 
with  gold-rimmed  spectacles  rolling  by  me  in 
cabs ;  trying  to  read  Baedeker  and  see  Rome  at 
the  same  time ;  sitting  uneasily  and  one-sidedly  in 
their  cabs,  like  one  who  is  trying  to  catch  a  train ; 
with  an  anxious  look  upon  their  elderly  faces,  as 

128 


MODERN    PILGRIMS 

if  they  feared  that  before  they  got  there  Rome's 
seven  hills  might  vanish  or  the  Colosseum  might 
fall  down. 

Dear  old  ladies !  Millions  of  women  have 
been  born,  have  borne  yet  other  millions,  have 
lived  upon  the  seven  hills,  and  now  their  molder- 
ing  bodies  make  up  the  soil  which  is  bridging  the 
spaces  between  the  Roman  hills  and  making  both 
hills  and  valleys  into  a  rolling  plain.  And  still 
the  Colosseum  stands,  and  still  stands  Rome. 

Dear  old  ladies  !  Let  no  one  think  that  because 
I  repeat  these  adjectives  "old"  and  "elderly" 
that  I  am  sneering  at  their  age.  Not  so.  I  am 
only  wondering  that  their  years  have  not  made 
them  wiser. 

The  tourist  pilgrims  are  to  be  found  in  groups 
as  well  as  singly.  In  the  Colosseum,  on  the 
Palatine  Hill,  in  the  Forum,  you  will  see  groups 
composed  generally  of  these  three  classes — the 
spectacled  lady,  the  veteran  maiden,  and  the 
girly-girl,  gathered  around  some  lecturer,  listen- 
ing attentively  to  his  flood  of  words  and  making 
careful  notes.  I  wonder  why  they  make  notes. 
Does  anybody  know  why?  These  lecturers  are 
French  as  well  as  Italian,  but  they  generally 
lecture  in  English — at  least  I  suppose  it  is 
English.  I  hope  the  lectures  are  edifying  and 
J  129 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

improving;  heard  in  passing,  they  are  certainly 
amusing. 

There  is  still  another  kind  of  tourist  group. 
This  is  the  German  group.  Here  the  men  pre- 
dominate. You  are  seated,  like  Marius,  on  a 
broken  column;  you  are  trying  to  think  the 
commonplace  things  that  everybody  thinks;  sud- 
denly a  wild  whirring  noise  falls  upon  your  ear 
like  the  "honk!  honk!  honk!"  of  a  flock  of 
wild  geese.  You  look  up  in  alarm.  Toward 
you  comes — V-shaped,  like  the  wild  geese — a 
triangular  mass  of  humanity,  a  German  flying- 
wedge.  It  is  headed  by  the  Herr  Professor. 
The  Herr  Professor  wears  large  round  spectacles, 
and  has  long  hair,  long  mustaches,  long  whiskers, 
long  nails,  and  long  teeth.  He  is  talking.  The 
sides  of  the  triangle  are  talking.  The  base  of 
the  triangle  is  talking.  Everybody  is  talking. 
The  Herr  Professor  gallops  up  to  the  Temple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux.  He  elevates  his  voice  above 
the  babel  to  a  roar,  and  declaims  fiercely  for  ten 
or  fifteen  seconds.  The  triangle  still  talks.  With 
another  shout  the  professor  darts  toward  the 
Basilica  Julia.  The  flying-wedge  follows  him. 
Ten  seconds  here.  With  a  whoop  the  professor 
turns  toward  the  Arch  of  Severus.  Fifteen  sec- 
onds.     Then   with  gabble   and   roar  and  rattle, 

130 


''^  Where  Romulus' s  grave  was  uncovered ^  near  the 
Arch  of  Severust^ 


#FCAt\ 


fQ> 


9W  TMS 

MODERN   PILGRIl 

like  the  noise  of  a  passing  train,  the  wild-eyed 
German  tourists  whirl  toward  the  exit.  The 
tip-touting  guardian  feebly  tries  to  flag  them  as 
they  dash  by,  but  fails.  The  Germans  are  gone. 
But  in  a  few  moments  you  hear  the  "  honk ! 
honk ! "  again  borne  back  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind.  The  Germans  have  reached  the  Palatine 
Hill. 

The  Baedeker  pilgrims  were  far  outnumbered 
by  the  St.  Peter  pilgrims.  To  give  an  idea  of  the 
size  of  these  pilgrimages,  let  me  copy  the  figures 
of  arrivals  by  train  from  the  newspapers  of  a  single 
day : 

At  4:17  o'clock  946  pilgrims  from  Arezzo. 

At  5:45  o'clock  1,030  pilgrims  from  Vald'arno. 

At  6:30  o'clock  1,017  pilgrims  from  Tiberina. 

At  7:18  o'clock  450  pilgrims  from  Casentino. 

At  8:45  o'clock  877  pilgrims  from  Milan. 

At  9:20  o'clock  954  pilgrims  from  Milan.  (Second 
section  of  train.) 

At  10:25  o'clock  831  pilgrims  from  Terrasina. 

At  1 1  :oo  o'clock  450  pilgrims  from  Goritz. 

At  12:15  o'clock  617  pilgrims  from  Leibach. 

At  13:45  o'clock  460  pilgrims  from  Belgium. 

At  14:00  o'clock  301  pilgrims  from  Gaeta. 

At  15:15  o'clock  954  pilgrims  from  The  Marches. 

At  i6:oo  o'clock  1,500  pilgrims  from  The  Marches. 
(Second  section  of  special  train.) 

131 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

At  17:00  o'clock  1,722  pilgrims  from  Florence. 

At  18:50  o'clock  949  pilgrims  from  Tuscany;  gen- 
erally from  Tuscan  dioceses  Fiesole  and  Modigliana. 

At  19:50  o'clock  450  pilgrims  from  Bohemia. 

At  20:17,  21:45,  22:30,  23:18,  and  24:35  five 
special  trains  of  4,000  Tuscan  pilgrims. 

These  items  show  how  the  pilgrims  poured 
into  Rome.  In  this  one  day  17,508  pilgrims 
arrived.  The  majority,  of  course,  were  Italians, 
but  there  were  among  these  arrivals  pilgrimages 
of  Belgians,  French,  Austrians,  Hungarians,  Gali- 
cians,  and  Slovaks.  The  large  number  in  the 
trains  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  most  of  them 
rode  in  fourth  -  class  vans,  something  like  our 
cattle -cars. 

There  was  an  occasional  pilgrimage  of  the  better 
classes.  For  example,  one  was  made  up  entirely 
of  members  of  the  Viennese  aristocracy.  This 
was  headed  by  Monsignore  the  Count  of  Lippe, 
of  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral,  archbishop  of  Vienna ; 
he  is  a  member  of  the  reigning  house  of  Lippe  in 
Germany.  In  this  pilgrimage  were  the  Princess 
Lichtenstein,  the  Princess  Lobkowiz,  the  Countess 
Szecheny,  and  a  number  of  others  bearing  the 
proudest  names  of  Austro  -  Hungary.  These 
pilgrims  were  received  by  the  Pope  in  private 
audience,   presented    by  the  Austro  -  Hungarian 

132 


MODERN    PILGRIMS 

embassador,  and  for  days  Rome  gossiped  of  the 
magnificent  gifts  they  brought  as  Peter's  pence. 
This  was  the  only  aristocratic  pilgrimage,  and 
there  were  very  few  pilgrims  even  of  the  middle 
class.     Most  of  the  pilgrims  were  peasants. 

Like  the  Baedeker  pilgrims,  the  St.  Peter  pil- 
grims were  generally  elderly.  Few  young  people 
were  among  them,  although  you  occasionally  saw 
an  elderly  woman  carrying  a  new  baby.  Some 
of  these  peasant  women — like  Elizabeth,  who  bore 
John  the  Baptist  when  she  was  "  well  stricken  in 
years  " — apparently  defy  the  flight  of  time.  But 
not  in  visage,  for  they  all  are  wrinkled  and  all 
look  old.  If  any  one  believes  that  "  living  near 
to  nature,"  as  peasants  do,  makes  fine  physical 
types,  a  look  at  these  pilgrims  would  undeceive 
him.  I  have  never  seen  so  many  physical  de- 
generates among  people  not  actually  deformed. 
With  minor  physical  defects  they  are  very  largely 
endowed.  Among  them  were  knock-kneed  pil- 
grims, bow-legged  pilgrims,  club-footed  pilgrims, 
humpbacked  pilgrims,  splay  -  footed  pilgrims, 
one-eyed  pilgrims,  hare -lipped  pilgrims,  ataxic 
pilgrims,  epileptic  pilgrims,  and  cock-eyed  pil- 
grims— for  of  converging  and  diverging  strabismus 
I  never  saw  so  many  cases  in  my  life. 

The  St.  Peter  pilgrims  were  frightfully  dirty. 
133 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

There  was  nothing  picturesque  about  them,  for 
only  two  or  three  groups  wore  any  distinctive 
costume — the  Calabrians,  the  Slovaks,  and  a  few 
others.  They  were  so  filthy  that  the  terrified 
Romans  abandoned  the  tram  -  cars  for  insect- 
ivorous reasons.  Even  the  Papal  authorities 
became  alarmed  at  the  bad  sanitary  condition 
of  some  of  the  pilgrims,  and  decided  to  forbid 
the  pilgrimages  during  the  summer  months,  fear- 
ing an  outbreak  of  disease  at  Rome. 

If  the  pilgrims  drove  the  Romans  out  of  the 
trams,  they  drove  the  tourists  out  of  the  gal- 
leries— at  least  the  free  ones.  Through  the 
Vatican  there  tramped  ceaselessly  hordes  of  these 
unclean  creatures,  gazing  goggle-eyed  at  the  pic- 
tures and  statuary.  The  marble  floors  were 
defiled  by  them ;  the  light  rendered  dim  by  clouds 
of  dust  from  their  grimy  clothing;  the  air  be- 
fouled by  their  fetid  breath.  The  smells  were 
awful.  The  Vatican  was  an  excellent  place  to 
stay  away  from  while  the  pilgrims  were  there. 

However,  this  is  a  characteristic  of  free  days 
and  free  galleries.  At  the  Paris  Salon  there  are  — 
or  used  to  be — three  rules  regarding  admission  : 
Fridays,  five  francs ;  Sundays,  free ;  other  days, 
one  franc.  On  Fridays  the  people  you  meet 
there  are  clean ;  on  one-franc  days  it  is  a  little 

134 


MODERN    PILGRIMS 

smelly ;  on  Sundays  it  is  awful.  I  once  went 
into  the  Tower  of  London,  not  knowing  it  was  a 
free  day.  But  I  got  no  further  than  the  Bloody 
Tower.  There  I  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  and 
returned  to  the  outer  air  half-strangled  by  the 
smell  of  the  British  populace. 

Lest  any  one  should  consider  these  remarks 
"  snobbish,"  coming  from  a  citizen  of  a  republic, 
I  may  state  that  I  am  a  firm  believer  in  repub- 
licanism, but  I  believe  in  the  Republic  of  Soap. 


The  Italian  omnibuses  and  street-cars  receive 
passengers  only  until  the  seats  are  "  complete," 
when  they  carry  a  signboard  to  that  effect.  After 
the  advent  of  the  pilgrims  in  Rome,  the  employees 
were  unable  to  enforce  this  rule.  So  they  did  not 
try.  It  was  not  uncommon  to  see  an  electric  car, 
its  inside  jammed  with  pilgrims,  its  platforms 
choked  with  pilgrims,  with  pilgrims'  heads  stick- 
ing out  of  the  windows,  with  pilgrims  hanging 
like  bunches  of  grapes  from  the  hand-rails,  and 
with  pilgrims  on  the  roof.  In  front  you  saw  the 
signboard  "  Completo." 

The  sign  seemed  unnecessary. 

All  sorts  of  things  happened  to  the  pilgrims, 
and  many  things  happened  to  the  people  who  had 

135 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

to  handle  them.  The  luckless  conductors  and 
motor -men  of  the  electric  trams  were  badly- 
used  in  their  attempts  to  prevent  the  pilgrims 
from  hurting  themselves  in  their  wild  rushes 
upon  the  incoming  cars.  At  terminal  points 
like  the  Piazza  Venezia  the  scenes  were  extraor- 
dinary. When  a  car  appeared  bound  for  St. 
Peter's,  hundreds  of  pilgrims  took  it  by  storm, 
climbed  over  the  wire  railings,  clambered  through 
the  windows,  even  hung  on  to  the  brake-beams. 
Here  is  a  paragraph  from  a  Roman  daily : 

"  The  frenzied  crowd  of  pilgrims,  themselves  hurling 
upon  the  trams  in  the  Piazza  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano, 
at  the  seventeen  and  three-quarters  o'clock  of  the  evening, 
caused  a  deplorable  disgrace.  The  conductor  Sante  Ver- 
delocco  of  tram  No.  233,  while  attempting  them  to  re- 
strain, received  the  handling  so  rough  that  he  experienced 
the  fracture  of  the  sixth  rib  on  the  left  side.  At  the  hos- 
pital the  Doctor  Stefani  decided  that  he  would  be  dis- 
charged cured  in  twenty-five  days." 

Note  the  curious  ending.  In  all  the  Roman 
dailies  accounts  of  accidents  are  followed  by  a 
similar  prophecy  from  the  hospital  doctors. 

Here  is  another  local  item  concerning  the 
achievements  of  the  frenzied  pilgrims  on  the 
trams : 

136 


MODERN   PILGRIMS 

"  In  the  Piazza  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano  in  the 
middle  day  (me7,7.ogiorno)  of  yesterday  the  under-brigadier 
of  the  Guard  of  Public  Security,  Alexander  Bonalli,  in 
attempting  to  prevent  from  mounting  on  the  tram  the 
frenzied  crowd  of  pilgrims,  was  trampled  upon  and  badly 
injured  at  the  left  knee  and  at  the  right  arm.  At  the 
hospital  it  was  decided  that  he  would  be  discharged  cured 
in  sixteen  days. 

"  It  is  marvelous  the  service  that  do  the  employees 
with  such  crowds  in  all  the  stations  principals  of  the 
trams-electrics.  It  is  due  to  the  admirable  Cavalier  Fucci 
who  is  at  the  head  of  the  service  of  the  trams-electrics, 
and  makes  honor  to  the  city." 

As  an  acknowledgment  of  the  hard  work 
of  the  tramway  employees  the  following  adver- 
tisement appeared  in  the  Roman  newspapers : 

Office  of  the  Societa  Romana  Tramways-Omnibus. 
Paid-up  Capital,  5,600,000  Lire. 

Rome,  April  29,  1900. 

It  is  my  pleasant  duty  to  inform  the  employees  of  this 
company  that  the  board  of  directors  is  much  pleased  with 
the  laudable  zeal  that  they  have  shown  in  handling  the 
present  extraordinary  influx  of  passengers.  As  a  proof  of 
our  satisfaction  with  the  faithfulness  of  our  employees, 
and  to  render  them,  if  possible,  even  more  devoted  to  the 
company  and  attentive  to  the  public,  we  have  resolved 
that  every  employee  shall  receive  double  pay  for  his  ser- 

137 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

vices  for  to-morrow,  the  thirtieth  of  April.    For  the  board 
of  directors. 

Signed,         F.  Paganini,  President. 

The  foregoing  document  may  make  American 
readers  stare.  They  might  be  justified  in  sus- 
pecting President  Paganini's  sanity.  But  the 
board  of  directors  could  not  all  go  crazy  at  the 
same  time. 

The  terror  which  the  terrified  pilgrims  inspired 
in  those  who  had  to  deal  with  them  was  justifiable, 
as  will  be  seen  from  the  foregoing.  But  while 
untoward  things  happened  to  those  who  handled 
them,  not  a  few  things  happened  to  the  pilgrims 
themselves.  The  following  paragraphs  are  of  a 
type  which  was  only  too  frequently  seen  in  the 
Roman  dailies.  It  was  evident  that  the  religious 
fervor  of  some  of  the  pilgrims  was  very  closely 
allied  to  mania : 

"  Yesterday  the  pilgrim  Alexander  Deino,  of  years 
thirty-four,  of  Rocca  San  Casciano,  who  lodges  in  the 
Piazza  Santa  Chiara,  No.  49,  fourth  floor,  was  so  im- 
pressioned  by  a  visit  made  to  St.  Peter's  and  the  Cata- 
combs that  he  commenced  to  delirium.  The  exaltation 
of  the  pilgrim  increased,  and  toward  midday  he  began 
to  throw  the  landlord's  furniture  out  of  the  window.  The 
demented  was  visited  by  the  Doctor  Borruso,  who  ordered 
him  transferred  to  the  maniackery." 

138 


MODERN    PILGRIMS 

"  This  night  at  midnight  and  a  half,  outside  the  gate 
Cavalleggeri,  a  pilgrim  Belgian,  the  Professor  Giuseppe 
Warnier,  made  himself  to  push  the  cries  frenzied  and  to 
make  the  gestures  of  madness.  The  brigadier  of  cara- 
hinieri^  Osvaldo  Carrara,  and  the  Carabiniero  Carletti, 
who  passed  at  this  moment,  could  only  with  great  diffi- 
culty conduct  him  to  the  Hospital  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
where  it  was  obliged  to  put  on  him  the  jacket  of  force. 
The  Doctor  Pastano,  from  the  disordered  discourses 
of  the  unfortunate,  concluded  that  he  was  attained  of  the 
monomania  religious." 

Some  of  the  pilgrims  who  stormed  the  trams 
came  to  grief,  as  will  be  seen  by  this : 

"At  fourteen  and  a  half  o'clock  of  to-day,  the  tram- 
electric  No.  264  has  invested  the  pilgrim  Giuseppe 
Foglieni,  of  years  forty-eight,  of  Calupo  d'Adda.  The 
Foglieni  bears  lacerated  and  contused  wounds  on  the 
occiput  and  grave  contusions  and  ecchymoses  at  the  left 
flank,  and  commotions  cerebral.  He  was  transported  to 
the  Santo  Spirito  Hospital,  where  the  Doctor  Bindi  decided 
that  he  would  be  discharged  cured  in  forty-five  days." 

As  in  the  days  of  eld,  when  pious  pilgrims 
sought  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  evil  men  lay  in 
wait  for  pious  ones.  Even  in  Rome  there  were 
light-fingered  gentry  preying  on  the  pilgrims : 

"  Yesterday  morning  the  Signore  Halsigray  and  his 
wife,  pilgrims  from    Bordeaux,  were  went  to  visit  the 

139 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Church  of  St.  Peter.  What  was  not  the  surprise  of  the 
Signore  Halsigray  when  at  his  return  he  found  in  the 
pocket  of  his  top-coat  a  portfolio  to  him  not  belonging, 
and  containing  thirty  marks  in  gold  and  two  coupons 
of  bonds  Russian.  This  portfolio  miraculous  had  simply 
been  introduced  into  the  top-coat  of  the  Signore  Halsi- 
gray by  some  pickpocket  who,  after  having  stolen  it,  had 
feared  the  arrest,  and  disembarrassed  himself  of  the  port- 
folio incriminating." 

But  the  two  most  remarkable  pilgrim  cases 
were  of  a  man  who  had  lost  his  pilgrim  father 
and  of  a  pilgrim  who  had  lost  his  lodgings. 
Here  is  the  case  of  the  lost  father: 

"  The  pilgrim  John  the  Baptist  Giacopetti,  of  years 
72,  of  Petritoli,  on  Friday  morning  went  out  of  the  house 
of  his  son  John,  living  in  the  Street  of  the  Four  Saints, 
No.  3,  for  to  go  for  to  see  the  Colosseum.  From  that 
moment  he  has  not  more  returned.  He  is  of  stature 
ordinary,  with  beard  and  hair  white,  vestured  with  jacket 
and  waistcoat  of  black,  pantaloon  of  gray,  hat  of  black. 
Who  can  give  notice  to  the  afflicted  son  will  do  a  work 
meritorious." 

And  here  is  that  of  the  man  who  lost  his 
lodgings  : 

"  The  pilgrim,  Vincenzo  Cuntinelli,  of  years  58, 
from  Jesi,  yesterday  evening  at  19  o'clock,  issued  from 
the  house  where  he  was  lodging,  and  where  he  had  paid 

140 


MODERN    PILGRIMS 

five  days  in  advance,  for  to  go  for  to  buy  some  fried  fish. 
He  forgot  his  street,  and  at  23  o'clock  was  still  circling 
around  Rome.  At  the  office  of  the  Public  Security  of  the 
Monti  he  could  say  no  more  than  that  he  inhabited  at 
the  number  22,  but  could  give  no  indication  of  the 
street." 

The  plight  of  the  unfortunate  pilgrim  who 
went  forth  to  buy  fried  fish,  and  remembered  his 
street  number  but  forgot  his  street,  was  indeed 
pitiful.  It  was  like  that  of  the  man  who  knew 
the  answer  to  a  conundrum,  but  did  not  know 
what  the  conundrum  was. 


141 


A   VOLCANO'S    THUNDER 

TOURISTS  are  like  sheep.  Before  Easter, 
every  one  was  flocking  from  Naples  to 
Rome  for  Holy  Week.  After  Holy  Week,  the 
trend  of  travel  was  still  northward  from  Rome. 
But  after  May  Day  tourists  began  flocking  back 
to  Naples.  Cause — a  sudden  outbreak  of  Mt. 
Vesuvius. 

There  were  other  attractions,  beside  the  vol- 
cano, which  brought  Italians  as  well  as  foreigners 
to  Naples  from  all  over  Italy.  The  king  and 
queen  had  gone  there  to  inaugurate  "  a  grand 
exposition  of  hygiene."  In  honor  of  their  visit 
an  elaborate  programme  had  been  prepared,  in- 
cluding reviews  of  troops,  a  sword  tournament, 
a  court  ball,  a  public  ball,  sailing  and  rowing 
regattas,  a  tennis  tournament,  horse-races,  a  naval 
parade,  and  a  "  grand  pyrotechnic  display  on  the 
water." 

An  ending  not  foreseen  when  the  programme 
was   drawn  up  was  a  grand  pyrotechnic  display 

142 


A  VOLCANO'S   THUNDER 

which  eclipsed  that  on  fleet  and  shore.  It  came 
from  Mt.  Vesuvius. 

Only  a  few  weeks  before,  we  had  driven  from 
Naples  to  Pompeii,  returning  thence  the  next  day 
to  Resina,  to  make  the  ascent  of  Vesuvius.  The 
drive  along  the  bay  shore  is  a  beautiful  one.  For 
about  eighteen  miles  you  drive  through  towns, 
villages,  and  villas,  so  continuous  that  the  high- 
way seems  like  a  street.  The  chief  towns  are 
Portici,  Resina,  Torre  del  Greco,  and  Torre 
Annunziata.  Along  the  roadway  one  sees  home- 
made macaroni  hung  on  lines  to  dry,  looking  like 
the  family  "  wash.**  It  trails  almost  to  the  ground, 
and  little  dogs  playfully  frisk  back  and  forth,  part- 
ing the  curtains  of  macaroni  as  they  go. 

One  can  not  help  but  wonder  at  the  inhabitants 
who  live  so  placidly  in  the  shadow  of  Vesuvius 
with  these  terrific  engines  of  nature  laboring 
beneath  them — for  nearly  every  one  of  the  busy 
towns  and  pretty  villages  has  been  at  least  once 
destroyed  by  the  volcano. 

The  ascent  of  Vesuvius  is  now  made  with  com- 
parative ease.  If  at  Pompeii,  you  may  go  up 
from  the  Hotel  Diomede  by  horse-trail.  Or  you 
can  go  back  from  Pompeii  by  carriage-road  to 
Resina,  thence  up  to  the  wire-rope  railway.  Most 
tourists  drive  by  carriage  from  Naples  to  the  foot 

143 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

of  the  cone  near  Resina.  From  there  the  carriage- 
road  zigzags  up  the  mountain-side  some  2,200 
feet.  The  mountain  is  about  4,300  feet  high, 
varying  as  the  crater  changes.  Some  2,200  feet 
up  is  the  observatory,  with  a  seismograph  and 
other  earthquake  apparatus  for  recording  seismic 
and  volcanic  phenomena.  About  a  mile  and  a 
half  beyond  this  point,  the  winding  carriage-road 
ends.  The  lower  station  of  the  railway  is  about 
2,600  feet  above  the  sea,  the  railway  is  2,700  feet 
long,  and  the  upper  station  is  1,300  feet  higher 
than  the  lower.  At  the  upper  station  you  are 
obliged  to  take  the  official  guides  if  you  wish  to 
go  to  the  brink  of  the  crater.  The  carriage  drive 
from  Naples  to  the  railway  takes  four  to  five 
hours  ;  back,  two  to  three  hours  ;  and  the  railway 
ascent  is  made  in  twelve  minutes.  In  addition  to 
the  Diomede  horse-trail,  there  are  other  trails  up 
the  mountain  by  which  the  ascent  is  made  on 
horseback  or  on  foot ;  for  these  also  guides  are 
obligatory.  Needless  to  say,  the  ascent  by  trail 
is  a  most  fatiguing  trip. 

The  stream  of  curious  tourists  up  Vesuvius  was 
suddenly  checked.  About  the  first  of  May  signs 
of  activity  were  first  noted.  The  gigantic  "pine- 
tree"  formed  of  smoke  which  crowns  the  crater  is 
a  certain  index  to  the  condition  of  the  internal 

144 


A  VOLCANOES   THUNDER 

fires.  This  curious  smoke-plume  suddenly  ele- 
vated itself  to  a  height  of  some  fifteen  hundred 
feet.  Through  its  black  shadows  red  flashes  be- 
gan to  appear,  followed  by  loud  explosions.  After 
each  explosion  showers  of  red-hot  stones,  scoriae, 
and  ashes  fell  in  fiery  rain.  As  if  echoing  the 
noise  of  the  explosions,  subterranean  rumblings 
were  heard, '  and  slight  but  almost  continuous 
earthquake  shocks  were  felt  from  Portici  to  Pom- 
peii. The  panic-stricken  inhabitants  of  the  Ve- 
suvian  towns  and  villages  remained  without  doors 
all  night,  and  the  railway  company  kept  trains  in 
readiness  to  take  them  away  if  need  arose.  For 
about  forty-eight  hours  this  activity  of  the  volcano 
continued  to  increase.  Then  there  was  a  period 
of  quiescence  for  a  day,  which  was  followed  by 
fresh  outbreaks. 

The  detonations  of  the  volcano  even  at  a  dis- 
tance were  awe-inspiring.  In  Naples  the  natives 
call  this  volcano-thunder  "dinanismo" — a  word 
coined  from  "dynamite."  I  have  heard  several 
great  dynamite  explosions — once  being  near  a 
vanishing  powder-mill  at  Pinole — but  they  are 
fire-crackers  compared  to  the  artillery  of  Vesuvius. 
How  the  detonations  sounded  on  the  mountain- 
side I  do  not  know.  We  were  no  nearer  than 
Resina.  There  the  sound  was  deafening.  At 
K  145 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Naples  it  was  somewhat  muffled  by  the  distance. 
Even  at  Naples  the  sight  was  a  grand  one.  It 
would  thrill  the  most  blase.  But  people  do  not 
become  hlase  to  earthquakes  and  volcanoes. 
In  San  Francisco  I  have  seen  listless  club- 
loungers  skip  for  the  street  with  great  vivacity 
when  a  little  temblor  came.  Here  in  Naples  you 
saw  on  the  high  hills  vast  crowds  watching  the 
volcano  by  night  as  well  as  day,  for  the  spectacle 
was  infinitely  more  impressive  by  night. 

Grand  as  it  was,  the  people  said  that  the 
eruption  was  a  minor  one.  None  the  less,  the 
authorities  forbade  tourists  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tain. The  royal  carabineers  drew  a  cordon  around 
the  base  of  the  cone,  within  which  line  no  one  was 
allowed  to  enter  save  the  official  guides.  The 
guides*  house  above  the  upper  railway  station  was 
destroyed  by  the  fiery  showers  from  the  volcano. 
The  upper  end  of  the  funicular  railway  was  also 
destroyed,  and  the  railway  people  were  ordered 
by  the  authorities  to  cease  operations.  Professor 
Semmola  stuck  to  his  post  at  the  observatory, 
although  the  telegrams  showed  that  the  building 
was  continually  struck  by  falling  stones.  It  is 
probably  safe  from  lava  flows,  however,  as  it  is 
built  on  a  projecting  spur  of  the  mountain. 

Of  course,  the  newspapers  exaggerated  the 
146 


A  VOLCANO'S   THUNDER 

eruption.  Newspapers  all  over  the  world  are  very- 
much  alike.  The  Naples  newspapers  printed  de- 
tailed accounts  of  the  awful  death  of  four  daring 
English  tourists.  They  approached  too  near  the 
crater,  and  the  newspapers  destroyed  them  with 
showers  of  red-hot  stones.  The  evening  papers 
gave  the  news  baldly,  but  the  morning  papers 
reprinted  the  story  with  all  sorts  of  harrowing  de- 
tails. The  sequel  was  curious  and  not  unamusing. 
In  our  country  the  newspapers  print  fakes  freely. 
No  one  ever  heeds  them,  and  they  never  take 
back  their  fakes.  In  Italy  it  is  different.  The 
official  guides  and  the  carabineers  became  indig- 
nant— the  soldiers  because  they  were  responsible 
for  keeping  tourists  off  the  mountain ;  the  guides 
because  they  were  responsible  for  the  tourists' 
safety  after  they  got  there.  The  military  officers 
and  the  authorities  of  Resina,  who  control  the 
guides,  protested.  Cavaliere  Cacciottoli,  Syndic 
of  Resina,  objected.  The  old  common-law  theory 
of  the  corpus  delicti  was  unconsciously  invoked: 
the  newspapers  could  not  produce  the  bodies. 
First  they  said  the  Englishmen  were  burned  to 
death.  Then  they  reluctantly  admitted  that  they 
were  only  badly  burned,  but  were  lying  in  the  hos- 
pital at  the  point  of  death.  Next  they  admitted 
that  they  were  only  scorched.     Finally  the  news- 

147 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

papers  in  the  handsomest  manner  stated  that  the 
Englishmen,  although  scorched,  had  been  miracu- 
lously saved  by  the  bravery  of  the  guides  and  the 
royal  carabineers. 

There  are  some  curious  features  to  officialism 
here.  A  large  body  of  carabineers  was  ordered 
to  each  of  these  Vesuvian  towns.  They  were 
placed  under  the  control  of  Cavaliere  Cavasola, 
the  prefect  of  the  district.  I  asked  why  they  were 
ordered  there,  as  there  was  no  disorder,  only  panic. 
I  was  told  by  cynical  Neapolitans  that  it  was  to 
keep  the  villagers  from  running  away !  When  the 
Cavaliere  Cavasola  concluded  that  it  was  time  for 
them  to  flee,  they  could  flee — but  not  before. 

Cardinal  da  Prisco  happened  to  be  visiting  at 
the  villa  of  a  friend  near  Torre  del  Greco.  Such 
was  the  panic  among  the  people  that  the  parish 
priest  appealed  to  him  to  calm  them.  So  the  car- 
dinal, in  full  rig,  went  to  the  church  and  adjured 
the  terrified  congregation  not  to  quit  their  homes. 


The  rival  attraction  on  the  peak  of  Vesuvius 
did  not  detract  in  any  way  from  the  success  of 
the  fetes  at  Naples.  Perhaps  it  added  to  them. 
The  review  of  the  troops  by  the  king  was  an 
interesting  spectacle.      The  province   of  Naples 

148 


A  VOLCANO'S   THUNDER 

is  a  military  department,  and  the  city  is  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Tenth  Army  Corps,  of  which  the 
Crown  Prince  of  Naples  is  the  titular  head.  This 
is  a  large  body  of  troops  to  be  garrisoned  in  a  city 
the  size  of  Naples.  Yet  you  see  little  of  them. 
The  troops  are  kept  shut  up  in  barracks.  Only 
a  few  hundred  are  visible  on  the  streets  at  any  one 
time.  The  sight  of  this  large  body  of  men  under 
arms  on  the  reviewing-ground  was  therefore  sig- 
nificant. The  government  does  not  want  the 
people  to  see  them  every  day.  They  savor  too 
strongly  of  conscription  and  taxes.  But  the  gov- 
ernment lets  the  people  see  them  once  in  a  while 
—  in  force  and  under  arms. 

At  this  review  I  counted  ten  regiments  of  in- 
fantry, one  of  Bersaglieri  (riflemen),  eight  batteries 
of  artillery,  and  two  troops  of  cavalry.  The 
review  took  place  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  Prince  of  Naples  appeared  at  a  quarter  to 
ten,  accompanied  by  his  staflF.  He  was  mounted 
on  a  handsome  bay,  and  was  saluted  with  three 
ruffles  of  the  drums.  He  assumed  command  of 
the  troops,  which  command  was  turned  over  to 
him  by  General  Mezza.  At  precisely  ten  o'clock 
the  queen  arrived,  accompanied  by  the  Crown 
Princess  of  Naples  and  her  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  waiting,  filling  four  carriages.     The  Prince  of 

149 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Naples  saluted  and  rode  by  the  side  of  the  queen's 
carriage  to  the  royal  tribune,  where  the  queen  and 
the  Princess  of  Naples  seated  themselves.  As 
they  entered  the  tribune  the  troops  drawn  up 
around  the  field  presented  arms.  At  a  quarter- 
past  ten  the  trumpets  sounding  the  royal  fanfare 
announced  the  king.  Descending  from  his  car- 
riage he  mounted  a  fine  sorrel,  and  the  review 
began.  When  the  troops  marched  past,  the  king 
had  at  his  right  the  Prince  of  Naples,  at  his  left 
the  minister  of  war,  and  behind  them  the  Duke 
of  Genoa  and  a  brilliant  staff.  The  infantry- 
marched  by  in  columns  of  companies,  the  artil- 
lery in  columns  of  batteries  at  the  trot,  and  the 
cavalry  in  columns  of  squadrons  at  the  gallop. 
After  the  march  past  the  king  dismounted,  re- 
turned to  his  carriage,  and  the  royal  party  drove 
back  to  the  palace  by  the  principal  streets,  amid 
the  applause  of  the  populace.  The  streets  were 
gay  with  flags,  banners,  rugs,  and  carpets,  for  the 
Italians  have  a  fashion  of  hanging  these  from  bal- 
conies for  decorative  purposes. 

Humbert  appeared  to  be  received  in  Naples 
rather  more  cordially  than  in  Rome.  It  is  said 
the  Neapolitan  populace  still  remember  with 
gratitude  his  fearlessness,  his  generosity,  and  his 
devotion  during  the  cholera  epidemic  some  years 

150 


A  VOLCANO'S   THUNDER 

ago.     During  this  visit  he  gave  the  mayor  one 
hundred  thousand  lire  for  the  poor  of  Naples. 

The  official  festivities  closed  with  a  naval  re- 
view. Probably  there  is  no  harbor  better  fitted 
for  such  a  pageant  than  Naples,  unless  it  be  that 
of  San  Francisco.  Every  one  is  familiar  with  the 
conformation  of  the  Bay  of  Naples.  The  town 
itself  is  •  on  a  range  of  high  hills  sloping  steeply 
to  the  sea.  Running  from  Posilipo  to  the  an- 
cient Castel  del  Ovo  is  the  Riviera  di  Chiaia, 
a  horseshoe  sweep,  with  the  fine  Caracciolo 
embankment  along  the  bay-shore.  The  bay  was 
the  stage,  the  Riviera  the  orchestra,  the  hills 
the  gallery.  It  made  a  perfect  amphitheatre.  The 
populace  in  the  gallery  could  see  as  well  as  the 
patricians  in  the  orchestra.  Before  the  enormous 
audience  there  defiled  under  slow  steam  the  great 
vessels  of  war,  commanded  by  Thomas,  Duke 
of  Genoa.  The  king  and  queen  went  aboard 
of  the  man-of-war  Lepanto,  When  the  royal 
standard  fluttered  up  the  halliards  a  salute  of 
twenty-one  guns  was  fired  by  every  ship  in  the 
squadron.  While  these  guns  were  thundering 
in  the  Bay  of  Naples,  Vesuvius's  guns  were  thun- 
dering eighteen  miles  away. 


151 


NEW   THINGS   IN    OLD    ROME 

T^HE  Roman  world  is  a  busy  world.  In 
-■■  pleasure -loving  Rome  one  festival  follows 
fast  upon  another.  The  Easter  season  was 
crowded  with  "social  events,"  and  while  the 
indoor  feasts  were  reserved  for  the  inner  circle, 
the  outdoor  festivals  were  open  to  the  Roman 
populace  and  the  stranger  within  the  Roman 
gates.  Most  of  them  were  for  charity,  and  to 
kermess  and  garden  -  party,  fair  and  festival, 
flower-show  and  tilting  tournament,  went  both 
Romans  and  "forestieri" — their  gentle  term  for 
the  strangers  from  over  seas  and  beyond  Alps. 
The  event  of  the  waning  season  was  a  day  of 
sports  at  the  Villa  Borghese. 

What  more  charming  setting  for  an  outdoor 
festival  than  this  old  garden !  One  may  not 
write  about  it,  for  it  has  been  written  about  by 
every  writer  who  ever  visited  Rome — from  the 
frivolous  Alfred  de  Musset  to  the  learned  his- 
torian Niebuhr;    from  the  witty  Frenchwoman, 

152 


Fountain-basins  overgrown  with  algcs  in  Villa  Borghese. 


NEW  THINGS   IN    OLD    ROME 

Mme.  de  Stael,  to  the  dreamy  American,  Na- 
thaniel Hawthorne.  One  may  not  describe  the 
villa,  then,  in  1900,  but  one  may  describe  an 
end-of-the-century  show  within  the  villa's  wails. 
Four-in-hands,  automobiles,  bicycles — these 
startle  one  within  the  precincts  of  the  venerable 
villa,  for  as  you  look  around  you  everything  is 
old.  -Aged  ilex -trees  nod  to  whispering  pines 
and  solemn  cypresses.  Through  their  vistas  one 
sees  crumbling  arches,  bits  of  broken  columns, 
ruined  temple  porticoes — artificial  ruins  these, 
put  there  three  centuries  ago  by  Cardinal  Scipio 
Borghese  because  his  villa  looked  new.  Now 
it  is  old  enough,  in  sooth,  and  these  Renaissance 
ruins  have  grown  hoary  like  their  predecessors, 
the  real  ruins  of  ancient  Rome.  Around  you 
are  marble  vases,  black  with  age ;  marble 
statues,  stained  with  time  and  often  broken- 
nosed  ;  marble  sarcophagi,  gray  with  the  flight 
of  years ;  moss-covered  marble  dolphins,  out 
of  whose  gaping  mouths  the  murmuring  waters 
spout  into  marble  fountain  -  basins  overgrown 
with  algae.  Through  these  dim  ruins  the  drive- 
ways wind  under  the  ilex-trees,  over  rolling 
hills,  grass  -  grown,  and  at  this  season  cov- 
ered with  wild  flowers — violets,  daisies,  butter- 
cups,   and    poppies — not    golden    poppies,  like 

153 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

our  California  Eschscholtzia,  but  vivid,  flaming, 
blood-colored. 

Except  for  the  little  garden  by  the  lake,  these 
are  the  only  flowers  you  see  in  Villa  Borghese. 
There  are  no  flower-beds  there.  It  is  not  an 
attempt  to  put  nature  in  a  straight-jacket,  but 
only  to  restrain  her  exuberance.  This  you  often 
see  in  European  parks  and  gardens.  There  is  in 
Munich  a  beautiful  park  called — why,  I  know 
not — the  "Englischer  Garten."  It  too  has  an 
air  of  nature's  wildness  which  is  most  refreshing 
to  the  eye.  You  can  leave  the  streets  of  the  busy 
city  and  in  five  minutes  fancy  yourself  in  a  wood- 
land far  from  the  madding  crowd.  In  our  coun- 
try we  are  too  prone  in  our  parks  to  "fix  things." 
The  average  American  park  is  laid  out  in  prim 
little  flower-beds  and  walks  like  the  front-yard  of 
a  Brompton  villa,  or  a  retired  Paris  grocer's  vil- 
legiature  at  Asnieres.  Our  park-gardeners  trim 
nature's  wandering  locks  and  comb  her  hair  until 
she  looks  like  a  soaped  and  plastered  urchin  made 
ready  for  school. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  if  some  Chicago  million- 
aire were  to  buy  Villa  Borghese — which  heaven 
forfend — he  would  weed  out  all  the  wild  flowers, 
trim  all  the  grass-grown  hills,  put  plaster-of-paris 
noses  on  the  mutilated  statues,  scrape  the  dingy 

154 


^*  Crumbling  arches  and  bits  of  broken  columns.  ^^ 


NEW  THINGS    IN    OLD    ROME 

moss  off  of  the  fountain  spouts,  and  take  the 
slimy  weeds  out  of  the  fountain  basins.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  from  the  Chicago  standpoint  the 
villa  is  very  much  out  of  repair. 

But  even  if  not  up  to  date,  the  Villa  Borghese 
is  very  charming.  There  is  to  us  hurried  moderns 
something  soothing  and  restful  in  driving  over  its 
pseudo-sylvan  roads  and  wandering  over  its  mock- 
woodland  ways ;  an  air  of  quiet  melancholy  broods 
over  its  temple  ruins  and  its  gray  statues,  which  is 
an  admirable  corrective  to  the  uneasy  spirit  of  the 
city  dweller  of  to-day. 

There  is  no  new  thing  in  Villa  Borghese.  Even 
the  signs  are  old.  Old  signboards  point  to  the 
palace,  wherein  are  stored  such  gems  of  art — to 
the  beautiful  Borghese  Casino,  itself  a  jewel-box, 
fitting  receptacle  for  such  gems.  Old  and  time- 
stained  boards  point  to  the  dairy,  to  the  lake- 
garden,  to  the  amphitheatre.  And  there  are 
weather-stained  signboards  which  bear  the  unique 
legend:  "It  is  forbidden  to  throw  dogs  into  the 
basins  of  the  fountains."  Why,  I  wonder?  Is 
dog-ducking  a  Roman  custom?  The  only  new 
signs  in  the  villa  are  those  restricting  certain  paths 
"SuoH  al  Pedone."  This  thoughtfulness  for  pe- 
destrians is  evidently  due  to  the  encroachment  of 
the  bicycle,  for  the  carriage-ways  and  bridle-paths 

155 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

are  indicated  by  ancient  signboards.     The  bicycle 
is  new — hence  the  new  sign  in  the  old  villa. 

But  the  old  villa  saw  many  new  things  in  this 
day  of  sports.  Even  the  name  was  new,  for  the 
official  programme  bore  the  title  "gymkhana," 
which  word  the  Romans  have  borrowed  from  the 
English  and  the  English  from  the  Anglo-Indians. 
And  the  old  villa  saw  all  sorts  of  modern  con- 
trivances in  the  way  of  motor-bicycles,  gasoline- 
tricycles,  and  automobiles  generally.  These  new- 
fangled vehicles,  gayly  flower-bedecked,  swept 
around  the  amphitheatre  called  the  "Piazza  di 
Siena" — for  there  is  an  amphitheatre  within  the 
villa's  walls.  Around  it  rises  terrace  after  terrace, 
with  tiers  of  marble  benches.  On  one  side  of  the 
amphitheatre  was  a  special  inclosure  wherein  was 
gathered  Rome's  gay  world — the  Roman  aristoc- 
racy, the  diplomatic  corps,  the  foreign  colony,  and 
such  transient  visitors  as  chose  to  pay  a  good 
round  sum  for  admission.  Within  the  inclosure, 
overlooking  the  race-track,  was  a  gayly  decorated 
tribune,  from  which  "queens  of  love  and  beauty" 
conferred  prizes  upon  fortunate  knights.  This 
reserved  inclosure  was  filled  with  a  brilliant  throng 
— ladies  in  their  Easter  bonnets  and  spring  frocks, 
officers  in  their  gorgeous  uniforms,  and  gentlemen- 
riders  in  brilliant  silk  and  satin  jockey-caps  and 

156 


NEW  THINGS    IN    OLD    ROME 

shirts.  Around  the  rest  of  the  amphitheatre  the 
populace  was  gathered,  and  the  price  of  admission 
to  them  was  ten  cents.  Perhaps  it  was  a  survival 
of  the  old  Roman  spirit  of  "Panem  et  circenses." 

The  automobile  parade  was  followed  by  a  series 
of  fantastic  races.  For  these  there  were  a  large 
number  of  entries  of  gentlemen-riders.  In  the 
first  the  entire  field — some  ten  horsemen — left 
the  post  at  the  word,  circled  the  track,  taking 
several  high  hurdles,  passed  under  the  wire,  dis- 
mounted, unsaddled,  placed  under  the  saddle  a 
handkerchief  borrowed  from  some  lady,  resaddled, 
remounted,  and  again  circled  the  track,  taking  its 
hurdles  in  the  other  direction.  This  was  natu- 
rally a  severe  test  of  all-round  horsemanship. 
Baron  Monpurgo  won  the  first  prize  and  Prince 
Rospiglosi  the  second.  There  were  several  of 
these  races,  and  in  all  of  them  the  gentlemen- 
jockeys  rode  with  great  dash,  taking  their  hurdles 
with  boldness  and  skill.  I  saw  but  one  "come  a 
cropper,"  and  he  mounted  again  like  a  flash. 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  programme 
was  the  four-in-hand  competition  in  obstruction 
driving.  There  were  ten  entries,  and  among  the 
vehicles  were  coaches,  drags,  breaks,  gentlemen's 
driving  phaetons,  and  a  char-a-banc.  All  seemed 
to  be  in  admirable  form.     The  horses  were  ex- 

157 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

quisitely  groomed,  and  most  of  them  well-trained. 
The  coaches  were  perfectly  appointed  ;  the  grooms 
were  all  in  trim  liveries  and  immaculate  buckskins 
and  boots  ;  the  gentlemen-drivers  were  all  of  them 
good  whips,  and  handled  the  ribbons  with  much 
skill.  Both  prizes  in  this  contest,  for  appoint- 
ments and  driving,  were  won  by  Baron  Mon- 
purgo,  who  had  already  won  prizes  at  a  driving 
contest  in  England.  This  was  followed  by  a 
similar  competition  for  grooms ;  the  driving  was 
good,  but  they  did  not  drive  so  well  as  their  mas- 
ters. I  noticed  with  some  curiosity  that  the  Roman 
populace  applauded  the  masters  more  than  they 
did  the  grooms. 

Another  point  which  struck  me  was  that  those 
who  were  most  successful  in  obstruction  driving 
did  not  adhere  strictly  to  "  driving  in  form."  By 
"  form  -  driving  "  I  mean  the  antithesis  of  the 
open,  free-handed  handling  of  the  reins  with 
which  we  Californians  are  so  familiar  among  our 
mountain  stage-drivers.  I  have  always  believed 
it  to  be  the  kind  of  driving  a  man  would  natu- 
rally fall  into  in  a  bad  place,  but  as  I  know  nothing 
about  driving  four,  I  may  be  wrong. 

I  was  reminded  of  a  talk  I  once  had  in  Paris 
with  Willie  Whiffletree,  admittedly  one  of  the 
best  whips   of  America  or  Europe.      I   had  sat 

158 


The  gentlemen-drivers  handled  the  ribbons. 


TnAft 


CAUfS 


NEW  THINGS   IN   OLD    ROME 

on  a  coach-box  from  Paris  to  Maisons-Laffitte 
beside  an  amateur  whip,  and  was  discussing  his 
toohng  with  Whiffletree.  I  modestly  advanced 
these  views  of  mine — heterodox  views  in  Europe. 
Whiffletree  hstened  to  me  kindly.  I  said  that 
when  it  came  to  going  over  a  mountain  road  in 
California  behind  six  half- broken  mustangs  I 
greatly,  preferred  the  free,  two-handed,  loose - 
hitched  team -driving  of  the  Californian  stage - 
driver.  I  also  asked  Whiffletree  whether  he 
thought  that  the  short,  close-buckled,  low-handed 
"  form  -  driving  '*  would  do  on  our  wild  roads 
over  steep  mountain  grades.  Whiffletree  replied 
that  both  kinds  of  driving  were  good  in  their 
respective  ways. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  have  you  ever  driven  over  our 
California  stage-roads  ?  '* 

"  Driven  over  them  !  "  replied  Whiffletree,  "  I 
should  say  I  had.  I  drove  stage  in  California 
from  Independence  to  Bodie  for  six  months,  and 
used  to  throw  Uncle  Sam*s  mail-bags  out  of  the 
boot  at  every  station." 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ? "  I  asked  in  some 
wonder.     "  For  fun  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Whiffletree,  briefly;  "I  did  it 
for  a  living.     I  was  broke." 


159 


MAKING   SAINTS  AT  ST.  PETER'S 

/^NE  night  in  the  early  summer  of  the  "Holy 
^-^  Year"  the  pilgrims  saw  the  facade  of  St. 
Peter's  and  Bernini's  Colonnade  brilliantly  illu- 
minated. Rows  of  Venetian  lanterns  were  placed 
along  the  salients  of  the  vast  heap  of  buildings, 
outlining  them  in  fire.  For  hours,  seen  from 
across  the  Tiber,  the  great  basilica  burned  into  the 
blackness  of  the  night.  But  the  dome  was  dark. 
So  many  years  have  passed  since  St.  Peter's  was 
illuminated  that  the  daring  steeple-jacks  who  used 
to  climb  the  dome  have  either  died  or  disappeared, 
and  none  could  be  found  bold  enough  to  take 
their  places. 

The  illumination  was  in  honor  of  the  canoni- 
zation of  two  new  saints.  One  of  these  two 
saintly  persons,  before  he  was  a  saint,  was  a  man, 
Jean  Baptiste  de  la  Salle.  The  other  was  a 
woman,  Rita  da  Cascia.  Rita  was  born  in  1 3  8 1 . 
She  was  unhappily  married,  prayed  God  to  release 
her — which  He  did — and  as  soon  as  she  was  a 

160 


OS 


MAKING   SAINTS    AT   ST.   PETERS  S 

widow  she  became  a  nun.  For  forty-four  years 
she  was  a  shining  example  of  convent  life.  Con- 
cerning her  claims  to  sanctity  1  shall  speak  later. 

Jean  Baptiste  de  la  Salle  was  born  in  Rheims, 
France,  in  165 1.  He  became  a  priest  at  twenty 
years  of  age,  and  took  up  the  task  of  popular 
education. 

I  had  heard  that  in  the  old  days  saint-making 
was  a  trial  at  bar,  a  court  proceeding,  with  advo- 
cates for  and  against  the  saint,  the  saint's  oppo- 
nent being  termed  the  "  advocatus  diaboli."  But 
if  this  be  so,  the  legal  proceedings  in  nineteen- 
hundred  Rome  were  not  public,  and  we  did  not 
see  the  devil's  lawyer.  Three  "  congregations  " 
were  held  to  settle  the  claims  of  the  two  candidates 
to  sainthood.  The  first  was  secret.  In  the  second 
all  the  cardinals  took  part  and  voted  for  canoni- 
zation. The  third  congregation  was  held  before 
the  Pope. 

At  least  two  miracles  must  have  been  per- 
formed by  the  candidate  for  sainthood.  If  this 
be  proved,  the  candidate  is  "  beatified.'*  This 
means  that  the  saintly  person  enjoys  in  heaven 
eternal  beatitude,  but  it  is  not  canonization.  New 
miracles  must  be  performed  to  obtain  that  dis- 
tinction. The  miracles  must  continue  after  death. 
The  body  of  Saint  Rita,  for  example,  did  not 
L  161 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

decay,  but  "  after  death  emitted  a  fragrant  per- 
fume." Sometimes  the  candidates  wait  long.  La 
Salle  has  been  promoted  rapidly.  He  was  beatified 
in  1838  and  canonized  in  1900.  Like  the  beati- 
fication, the  claims  for  canonization  were  exam- 
ined by  three  consistories.  When  the  decision 
of  the  third  has  been  approved  by  the  Pope  a 
solemn  decree  is  issued  for  canonization. 

When  the  date  was  set  by  this  decree  there  at 
once  began  an  active  competition  for  tickets  of 
admission.  It  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  ordinary 
tickets.  The  Vatican  is  very  leaky,  and  one  can 
always  buy  tickets  of  admission  to  solemn  cere- 
monials for  from  two  to  ten  francs.  Of  course, 
the  tickets  were  not  openly  for  sale.  Here,  for 
example,  is  the  form  of  admission  ticket  for  the 
receptions  to  pilgrims  which  took  place  in  St. 
Peter's  for  many  weeks.  It  will  be  observed 
that  it  is  plainly  stamped  "gratis."  None  the 
less  these  tickets  were  for  sale  all  over  Rome  : 

[Papal  Arms.] 
Anticamera  Pontificia  al  Vaticano. 
Biglietto    d*  ammissione  nella  Basilica  Vaticano  per 

ricevere  la  Benedizione  di  Sua  Santita  nel  giorno  di , 

,  1900,  alle  ore  ii}4  ant. 

II  Maestro  di  Camera  di  Sua  Santita 

O.  Cagiano  de  Azevedo. 
162 


nARV 


V^  .r  T.» 


^^xvBBsrrj 


»2f  CAUF< 


» 

^ 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.   PETER'S 

N.  B. —  I.    Le  Signore  possibilmente  in  abito  nero  e 
velo  in  testa. 
2.    I  Signori  possibilmente  in  abito  nero. 
[Seal  of  the  maestro  di  camera.] 

L*  Ingresso  e  dal  Portone  di  bronzo.     II  biglietto  e 
personate. 

GRATIS. 

The  rush  at  this  canonization  ceremony  was  to 
get  tickets  for  the  reserved  tribunes  up  near  the 
high  altar.  These  were  not  easy  to  obtain.  The 
diplomatic  corps,  the  Roman  nobility,  and  visiting 
Roman  Catholic  aristocracy  from  other  countries 
were  first  served.  Some  few  lucky  heretical  for- 
eigners succeeded  in  getting  tickets  through  their 
embassies.  The  ceremony  was  long,  and  so  was 
the  wait  that  preceded  it.  But  it  was  certainly 
very  unusual,  and  perhaps  it  was  worth  while. 

As  early  as  four  in  the  morning,  we  were  told, 
the  pilgrims  began  collecting  on  the  great  square 
in  front  of  St.  Peter's.  Many  thousands  of  them 
were  fellow-countrymen  of  La  Salle.  Much  later 
came  the  fortunate  possessors  of  invitations  to  the 
tribunes.  Later  still  came  the  carriages  of  the 
cardinals  and  other  prelates  and  dignitaries  of 
the  pontifical  court.  By  the  time  the  late  arrivals 
reached  the  square  the  pilgrims  had  poured  into 
the  church,  the  doors  of  which  were  open  at  seven 

163 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

o'clock.  But  the  great  square  was  still  packed 
with  people.  The  tramway  company  carried  over 
thirty-five  thousand  passengers  to  St.  Peter's,  and 
over  thirty  thousand  more  went  on  foot  and  in 
vehicles. 

Although  the  Italian  government  does  not 
meddle  much  with  St.  Peter's,  it  got  a  hint  from 
the  Vatican  that  it  would  be  agreeable  if  troops 
were  sent  to  maintain  order  on  the  square.  There- 
fore there  was  a  large  military  force  in  attendance. 
A  double  cordon  was  drawn  around  the  square, 
while  within  it  and  at  the  foot  of  the  church  steps 
were  lines  of  carabineers  and  civil  guards  to  handle 
the  enormous  crowd.  The  troops  were  needed, 
for  some  of  the  pilgrims  acted  like  maniacs  in 
their  senseless  attempts  to  storm  the  great  bronze 
doors.  Even  within  the  church  they  sadly  needed 
control.  A  battalion  of  French  and  German 
priests  —  queer  allies — coveted  a  tribune  devoted 
to  ladies,  and  assaulted  it  with  such  impetuosity 
that  the  Papal  guards  forced  them  to  retire  with 
most  unclerical  haste. 

Many  ladies,  by  the  way,  never  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  tribunes  for  which  they  had  tickets. 
They  became  lost  in  the  struggling  masses  of 
pilgrims,  and  some  of  them  suffered  from  the 
rough  usage  of  their  brawny  peasant  neighbors. 

164 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.   PETER'S 

The  female  pilgrims  seemed  to  resent  their  car- 
rying portable  seats,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
crash  and  a  stifled  scream  showed  that  another 
camp-stool  had  gone  down.  Many  ladies  who 
entered  carefully  veiled  and  dressed  came  out 
total  wrecks,  with  their  gowns  half-torn  from  their 
backs.  In  fact,  after  the  first  assault  of  the  crowd 
upon  the  church,  the  square  between  the  obelisk 
and  the  steps  looked  like  a  millinery  battle-field. 
It  was  covered  with  gloves,  sunshades,  scarfs,  veils, 
shoes,  slippers,  and  other  articles  of  wearing  ap- 
parel; one  even  saw  in  the  wreckage  priests* 
caps  or  hats  —  for  nearly  all  the  pilgrim  priests 
wore  low,  round  -  topped,  broad  -  brimmed  hats, 
made,  apparently,  of  the  same  material  as  men's 
high  silk  hats.  I  heard  that  some  of  the  women 
were  so  badly  mauled  that  they  were  scratched  and 
bleeding,  but  I  saw  none  in  that  condition. 

A  large  number  of  women  fainted  in  the  crush, 
and  were  revived  at  extemporaneous  pharmacies 
which  Dr.  Lapponi,  the  Pope's  physician,  had 
established  in  the  church.  When  asked  in  the 
morning  if  these  life-saving  stations  were  for  the 
Pope,  the  doctor  replied  sardonically  that  "they 
were  not  for  the  Pope,  but  for  the  pilgrims — they 
would  need  them  more  than  His  HoHness." 
None   the  less.   Dr.   Lapponi   hovered  near  the 

165 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Pope  throughout  the  ceremonies,  and  at  one  time 
administered  to  him  a  cordial,  evidently  much 
against  the  Pope's  desire. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  for  these  emergency 
hospitals,  for  the  number  of  bruised,  contused, 
and  fainting  women  was  large.  The  most  seri- 
ously injured  was  a  French  pilgrim,  one  Marie 
Lequerq,  of  Paris,  who  had  lived  over  seventy 
years  without  accident  and  came  to  St.  Peter's 
on  a  holy  errand  just  in  time  to  have  a  block  of 
wood  fall  upon  her  from  a  lofty  cornice  and  frac- 
ture her  skull. 

At  another  point  in  the  crowd  there  was  great 
excitement,  and  the  inanimate  form  of  an  aged 
man  was  carried  away.  They  tried  to  revive  him 
at  one  of  the  temporary  hospitals,  but  the  attempt 
was  fruitless.  I  was  curious  to  know  what  had 
befallen  him,  so  I  looked  the  matter  up  next  day, 
and  found  that  he  was  a  Genoese  pilgrim,  one  Bar- 
tholomew Picconi,  and  that  the  cause  of  his  death 
was  heart  disease.  It  struck  me  that  this  would 
have  been  an  excellent  opportunity  to  try  the 
miracle-working  powers  of  the  new  saints.  Pilgrim 
Picconi  came  to  his  death  in  doing  them  honor. 

The  vast  church  had  been  gayly,  not  to  say 
gaudily,  decorated  for  the  ceremony.  The  great 
pilasters  were  covered  with  bands  of  gold-brocaded 

i66 


MAKING   SAINTS  AT   ST.  PETER'S 

crimson  damask.  In  the  niches  upon  the  inter- 
pilasters  were  placed  immense  stucco  vases  filled 
with  artificial  flowers.  From  each  lateral  arch 
of  the  nave  hung  enormous  banners  of  red  velvet 
with  a  rich  border  of  gold  lace,  whereon  were 
depicted  some  of  the  miracles  attributed  to  the 
new  saints.  From  the  ceiling  depended  hundreds 
of  crystal  chandeliers.  The  pontifical  throne 
was  decorated  with  crimson  velvet.  On  either 
side  to  right  and  left  were  the  tribunes  for  the 
pontifical  court,  the  diplomatic  body,  the  Roman 
Catholic  aristocracy,  and  the  invited  guests.  The 
entire  diplomatic  corps  accredited  to  the  Holy 
See  were  in  full  uniforms.  The  diplomats  accred- 
ited to  the  Quirinal  appeared  in  civilian's  attire. 
In  this  tribune  appeared  also  the  order  of  the 
Knights  of  Malta,  presided  over  by  Count  Ches- 
chi,  the  grand  master.  Until  I  saw  them  I  had 
supposed  this  mediaeval  order  was  extinct.  In 
a  post  of  honor  in  the  pontifical  tribune  were 
the  family  of  the  Counts  Pecci,  to  which  family 
the  Pope  belongs.  The  French  De  la  Salle  family, 
with  the  duke  at  the  head,  descendants  of  the  new 
saint,  were  also  in  this  tribune.  They  were  under 
the  wing  of  M.  Niscard,  French  embassador  to 
the  Vatican. 

The  "papal  army"  were  all  there.    There  were 
167 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  Swiss  halberdiers  wearing  the  mediaeval  cos- 
tume of  red,  yellow,  and  black,  said  to  be  Michael 
Angelo's  design ;  there  were  the  Noble  Guard  and 
the  Palatine  Guard,  all  in  gala  uniforms;  there 
were  also  those  officers  of  the  Papal  court  known 
as  the  "Chamberlains  of  the  Cloak  and  Sword," 
in  their  curious  Carlovingian  costumes. 

The  procession  was  announced  by  distant  music. 
First  came  the  guard  of  honor,  made  up  of  the 
Swiss,  Palatine,  and  Noble  Guards;  innumerable 
monastic  orders,  many  of  them  barefooted  friars; 
the  alumni  of  the  religious  seminaries;  the  Con- 
gregation ;  parishes  of  Rome ;  Augustinians,  bear- 
ing the  banner  of  Rita  da  Cascia;  the  Confraternity 
of  the  Sacrament,  with  the  banner  of  La  Salle; 
numerous  monsignori,  and  nearly  four  hundred 
archbishops  and  patriarchs,  including  Coptic  and 
other  Oriental  prelates  of  the  Roman  Church. 
Then  came  thirty-two  cardinals  of  the  Sacred 
College,  and,  following.  Prince  Marcantonio  Co- 
lonna,  carrying  a  candle  to  be  given  to  the  Pope. 
Later  I  observed  that  the  Pope  did  not  carry  his 
candle  in  his  hand,  but  that  it  stood  in  a  socket 
on  the  chair-arm,  close  to  his  hand. 

The  "March  of  the  Silverai"  was  sounded  on 
the  silver  trumpets,  and  the  Pope  appeared,  seated 
on    his    gestatorial    chair.      The    chair    was    sur- 

i68 


MAKING   SAINTS    AT   ST.   PETER'S 

mounted  by  a  rich  baldaquin,  and  was  borne  by 
twelve  liveried  lackeys.  The  Pope  was  received 
with  waving  of  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  but  with 
no  applause  other  than  the  hoarse  murmuring 
which  rose  from  sixty  thousand  throats.  We  had 
seen  him  on  a  previous  occasion,  when  he  received 
a  pilgrimage,  and  then  there  had  been  loud  and 
long  applause,  with  shouts  of"  Long  live  the  Pope- 
King  ! "  But  that  was  merely  a  "  reception  " — this 
was  a  religious  ceremony,  hence  the  absence  of 
applause. 

Leo  the  Thirteenth  in  appearance  is  most  re- 
markable. He  is  so  old,  so  shriveled,  so  desic- 
cated, that  he  looks  as  if  a  breath  might  blow  him 
away.  He  is  so  colorless  that  his  skin  appears 
translucent.  He  is  feeble,  as  was  shown  by  his 
movements,  but  his  small  black  eyes  shot  keen 
glances  from  under  his  white  eyebrows  in  every 
direction.  If  his  body  is  feeble  his  brain  is  evi- 
dently very  much  alive. 

After  the  Pope  had  been  seated  upon  his  throne, 
a  long  and  tiresome  ceremony  followed.  It  was 
concluded  by  the  Pope  reading  the  decree  of 
sanctification.  A  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  bells 
of  St.  Peter*s  began  to  ring.  To  this  prearranged 
signal  there  responded  the  bells  of  all  the  churches 
in  Rome  —  and  there  are  four  hundred  of  them. 

169 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Then  came  the  pontifical  mass.  Owing  to  the 
Pope's  weakness,  Cardinal  Oreglia  was  the  cele- 
brant. The  mass  was  accompanied  by  music  from 
the  choir  of  the  Capella  Romana.  Eight  appar- 
ently male  voices  gave  with  fine  effect  "Hodie 
Christus  Natus  Est,"  supplemented  by  a  choir  of 
one  hundred  boys.  I  say  "apparently  male,"  be- 
cause there  has  always  been  some  little  uncertainty 
about  the  falsettos  of  the  Vatican  choir. 

At  the  end  of  the  mass  the  Pope  was  presented 
with  certain  gifts,  offered  by  the  advocates  of  the 
new  saints ;  among  them  were  five  enormous 
wax  candles,  a  golden  loaf,  a  silver  loaf,  two  min- 
iature barrels — one  of  wine  and  one  of  water — 
and  a  cage  full  of  doves.  This  closed  the  cere- 
mony, and  the  Pontiff  withdrew  to  the  Vatican. 

During  the  ceremony  one  of  the  crystal  chan- 
deliers suspended  from  the  ceiling  began  to  creak 
ominously,  and  the  people  beneath  it  hastily  scat- 
tered. In  a  moment  the  mass  fell  and  was  dashed 
into  a  thousand  pieces  on  the  floor  below.  I  had 
been  in  St.  Peter's  a  few  days  before,  when  the 
workmen  were  suspending  these  chandeliers. 
They  were  taking  them  out  of  piles  of  num- 
bered boxes — for  St.  Peter's,  like  a  theatre,  has 
many  "properties,"  and  is  decked  in  a  different 
manner  for  its  different  ceremonials.     Cords  ran 

170 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.  PETER'S 

over  pulleys  fastened  far  up  aloft,  and  with  these 
the  chandeliers  were  hoisted  to  their  places.  St. 
Peter's  is  so  enormous  that  the  eye  there  is  con- 
tinually deceived.  The  chubby  cherubs  at  the 
holy-water  font  look  to  be  the  size  of  ordinary 
babies,  yet  they  are  nearly  seven  feet  tall,  and  a 
man  standing  beside  them  looks  Hke  a  dwarf. 
When  the  workmen  were  hoisting  these  chande- 
liers from  the  floor  I  noted  with  amazement  that 
the  masses  of  crystal  were  over  eight  feet  high. 
Yet  when  hoisted  to  their  places  far  up  in  the  dim 
heights  they  looked  about  the  size  of  a  man's 
head. 

The  workmen  in  St.  Peter's  are  called  sample- 
trini.  They  take  their  name  from  the  basilica 
"San  Pietro" — "sampietrino,"  plural  "sampietri- 
ni."  They  have  a  set  of  lofty  scaflFolds  mounted 
on  rollers.  These  are  moved  from  place  to  place 
about  the  vast  church.  They  are  not  unlike  our 
fire  department's  "water-towers."  Ladder  after 
ladder  runs  up  the  scaffolding,  and  by  its  aid  they 
reach  places  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  above  the  floor.  Other  ingenious 
cobweb  scaffoldings  are  used  for  work  on  the  in- 
side of  the  dome.  Seen  up  there,  the  sample- 
trlnl  look  like  flies  crawling  on  the  ceiling.  The 
top  of  the  dome  is  about  four  hundred  feet  above 

171 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  floor.  The  models  for  these  intricate  scaffold- 
ings were  designed  by  Niccolo  Zaboglia,  who 
founded  the  corps  of  sampietrini  in  1686. 

A  word  here  about  St.  Peter's — not  its  pic- 
tures, its  mosaics,  and  other  guide-book  lore,  but 
its  finances,  its  superintendents,  and  its  workmen 
— how  the  machinery  works,  in  short.  Concern- 
ing all  these  points  the  guide-books  are  silent. 
The  church  and  its  buildings  are  under  the  direct 
control  of  the  Vatican,  and  are  technically  owned 
by  the  "  Capitolo  Vaticano."  The  group  of  build- 
ings is  officially  called  "  Reverenda  Fabbrica  di  San 
Pietro,"  and  includes  not  only  the  vast  church 
itself,  but  the  treasury,  the  sacristy,  the  chapter- 
house, the  archives,  the  piazza,  and  the  colon- 
nades. The  chapter  controlling  the  "Fabbrica" 
has  productive  lands,  securities,  etc.,  aggregating 
in  value  about  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars. 
With  the  income  from  this,  they  keep  up  St. 
Peter's,  for  constant  expenditure  is  required. 
Four  notable  Italian  architects,  Signores  Azurri, 
Bonnani,  Buniri,  and  Vespignani,  are  in  charge  of 
the  church  and  its  buildings.  Two  engineers  aid 
them,  and  they  direct  a  force  of  sixty-four  trained 
men — the  sampietrini  already  mentioned — and  a 
reserve  of  thirty  sopranumeri.  These  men  wear 
a  uniform  of  dark  blue,  with  violet  trimmings. 

172 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.   PETER'S 

They  are  divided  into  squadre,  according  to  their 
callings,  for  there  are  among  them  all  kinds  of 
craftsmen,  such  as  painters,  gilders,  masons,  car- 
penters, stonecutters,  plumbers,  and  locksmiths. 
When  the  illumination  of  St.  Peter's  in  honor  of 
the  canonization  took  place  these  hundred  men 
had  each  nine  outsiders  for  assistants. 

Other-  workmen  were  engaged  in  hanging  enor- 
mous banners  on  the  day  in  question.  Two  of 
these  banners  were  devoted  to  the  miracles  worked 
by  Rita  da  Cascia.  On  one  of  these  she  was 
represented  in  the  act  of  restoring  eyesight  to 
Elisabetha  Bergamini,  who  had  been  stricken  with 
blindness.    On  the  other  banner  she  was  depicted 

as  instantaneously  curing  Coma  Pellegrini  of 

but  perhaps  I  had  better  leave  Coma's  maladies 
in  the  language  in  which  they  figured  on  the  ban- 
ner.    I  copied  the  inscription,  and  here  it  is: 

COMA  PELLEGRINI 

CONVERSANENSIS  ARTIFEX 

GASTRO-ENTERITI    CATARRHALI   CHRONICA 

HAEMORRHOIDALI   AFFECTIONE 

ET    CHRONICA  ITEM   GRAVIQUE  ANHAEMIA 

LABORANS   APPARENTI   SIBI   IN  SOMNIS 

S.   RITA 

PRECE  VOCATA  PRISTINAE  SANITATI  ILLICO 

RESTITUITUR 

173 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Above  this  inscription  was  a  painting  of  Coma 
in  bed,  suffering  from  his  complication  of  maladies, 
while  Rita  is  coming  down  through  the  ceiling  in 
a  burst  of  glory  to  cure  him.  It  irresistibly  sug- 
gested a  patent-medicine  advertisement. 

There  are  minor  churches  in  Rome  where  all 
sorts  of  curious  "ex-votos"  are  to  be  found  at 
the  shrines  of  miracle-working  saints.  There  you 
will  see  models  of  the  various  diseased  parts  of 
the  human  body  healed  by  these  medicinal  saints. 
Some  of  them  are  unpleasant  to  look  at,  and  quite 
unfit  for  publication.  But  that  any  such  extraor- 
dinary picture  as  that  described,  with  its  still 
more  astounding  story,  could  be  painted  upon  a 
banner  hung  in  St.  Peter's,  the  center  of  Roman 
Catholicism,  to  be  gazed  at  by  scores  of  thou- 
sands, seems  scarcely  credible. 

But  there  are  many  strange  things  in  St.  Pe- 
ter's. Not  the  least  strange  is  the  bronze  statue 
of  St.  Peter,  decked  out  as  it  is  at  this  season  in 
a  red  silk  robe  with  jewels.  Still  more  strange 
is  the  sight  of  people  kissing  the  foot  of  the 
bronze  St.  Peter.  The  toe  has  been  fairly  worn 
away  by  the  impress  of  thousands  of  lips.  I 
stood  for  some  time  and  watched  this  extraordi- 
nary and  revolting  spectacle — revolting  mentally, 
revolting  physically.     Waiving  the  idea  of  kneel- 

174 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.  PETER'S 

ing  to  any  one  or  anything  but  God,  the  physical 
side  of  this  custom  is  inexpressibly  repulsive  and 
nauseating.  Long  lines  of  people  filed  by — pil- 
grims of  all  ages,  in  all  stages  of  dirt,  decay, 
decrepitude,  and  disease.  Old  men  and  women 
pressed  their  puckered,  shriveled  lips  and  tooth- 
less gums  upon  the  sacred  foot.  Fathers  held 
up  little  -children  that  they  might  kiss  it.  Dull- 
eyed  peasant  women,  with  babes  hanging  at  their 
dugs,  took  the  infants'  lips  from  the  maternal  teat 
and  pressed  them  upon  the  holy  toe.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  well-dressed  and  clean,  approached, 
bowed,  and  kissed  the  nauseous  foot  as  did  their 
predecessors.  Some  of  them  appeared  to  be  per- 
sons of  refinement  and  intelligence.  Yet,  leaving 
all  religious  theories  aside,  how  could  they  do  this 
revolting  thing?  The  human  mouth  and  throat 
swarm  with  bacteria,  malignant  and  benign.  In  the 
human  mouth  are  found  the  germs  of  two  of  the 
most  deadly  diseases  known  to  doctors,  carcinoma 
and  tuberculosis  of  the  throat.  Tuberculosis  of 
the  lungs  sometimes  plays  with  its  victim  long,  as 
does  a  cat  with  a  mouse  ;  tuberculosis  of  the  throat 
is  always  fatal,  and  death  comes  swift  upon  the 
first  manifestation  of  the  disease.  Hosts  of 
minor  maladies  find  a  favorable  nidus  for  their 
disease  germs  in  the  human  mouth  and  throat. 

175 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

The  most  sweeping  is  the  influenza  germ.  And 
last,  but  not  least,  there  is  another  disease,  the 
most  awful  known  to  humanity,  because  it  is  liv- 
ing death.  This  horrible  disease  in  certain  stages 
manifests  itself  by  highly  contagious  lesions  in 
the  mouth  and  throat. 

These  facts  are  undisputed.  They  are  certainly 
known  to  the  authorities  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
Yet  this  criminal  procedure  takes  place  in  the 
church  of  St.  Peter*s  in  the  last  year  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  or  according  to  the  Roman  Church, 
the  first  of  the  twentieth  century  —  the  "Holy 
Year." 

Looked  at  from  a  therapeutic  rather  than  a 
theologic  standpoint,  it  fills  one  with  horror. 


It  was  whispered  in  Rome  that  the  Pope 
would  give  the  much-coveted  "Golden  Rose"  in 
this  Holy  Year  of  1900  to  "an  Austrian  arch- 
duchess." This  must  mean  a  certain  noble  widow 
lady,  daughter  of  a  king,  daughter-in-law  of  an 
emperor,  and  relict  of  a  prince.  Like  many 
imperial  and  royal  widows,  she  fell  in  love  with 
one  lowly  born — a  mere  count  this  time — and 
married  him  against  the  wishes  of  the  emperor, 
the  king,  and  all  the  rest  of  both  royal  families. 

176 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.   PETER'S 

She  sought  the  Pope  to  bring  about  a  recon- 
ciliation. These  interviews  led  the  Roman  gos- 
sips to  say  that  he  intends  to  give  her  the  Golden 
Rose. 

The  Popes  have  always  been  lenient  toward 
ladies  with  histories.  They  follow  closely  the 
precept  about  the  Magdalen.  Among  the  people 
honored  by  burial  in  St.  Peter's  there  are  even 
some  ladies  who  in  their  time  were  "talked  about/* 
as  is  this  royal  widow  to-day.  Perhaps  the  most 
notable  among  these  was  Christina  of  Sweden, 
who,  history  says,  surpassed  even  Lucrezia  Borgia 
in  that  latter  lady's  line.  Christina,  while  in 
Rome,  lived  in  the  Palazzo  Corsini  and  died  there. 
Probably  she  was  a  generous  daughter  of  the 
church,  hence  her  mortuary  honors. 

Queen  Christina,  by  the  way,  was  fond  of 
foreign  travel  and  sojourning  in  foreign  lands — 
an  unusual  thing  among  crowned  heads  in  her 
day.  Before  she  went  to  Rome,  she  spent  some 
time  in  France.  There  she  also  occupied  a  palace, 
placed  at  her  disposal  by  the  French  government. 

Here  Christina  held  her  httle  court.  Here  the 
French  wits  and  courtiers  hastened  to  pay  her 
homage.  Here  the  French  philosophers  and 
encyclopedists  repaired  to  do  honor  to  this  royal 
blue-stocking.     Here  the   intrigues   and   amours 

M  177 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

of  a  Swedish  court  were  transplanted  to  French 
soil.  And  here  the  pleasure-loving  queen  not 
only  had  her  court  and  her  courtiers,  but  her 
favorite,  for,  like  Catherine  of  Russia,  Christina 
of  Sweden  had  many  favorites.  The  Russian 
empress  preferred  Russian  favorites;  the  Swedish 
queen  preferred  Swedes, 

So  the  favorite  in  this  transplanted  Swedish 
court  was  Swedish  and  not  French.  Perhaps  it 
were  better  for  him  had  he  been  French,  for  one 
day  the  queen  discovered  that  the  faithless  favorite 
was  engaged  in  an  intrigue  with  one  of  her  maids 
of  honor.  The  justly  incensed  sovereign  at 
once  convened  a  private  court  of  the  officers  of  her 
body-guard,  and  had  him  tried,  condemned,  and 
beheaded.  As  for  the  maid  of  honor,  that  luck- 
less light  of  love  was  at  once  packed  off,  bag  and 
baggage,  to  Sweden. 

This  short  shrift  and  sharp  justice  on  French 
soil  naturally  caused  the  French  government  some 
perturbation  when  it  leaked  out.  The  French 
monarch  caused  the  intimation  to  be  conveyed,  as 
delicately  as  possible,  to  the  Swedish  queen  that 
he  objected  to  such  proceedings.  Christina  was 
astounded.  "Does  the  king  know,"  she  asked, 
"that  the  man  was  my  subject?  "  Yes,  the  king 
knew  it.     "  Does  the  king  know  what  he  did  ?  " 

178 


MAKING   SAINTS   AT   ST.   PETER'S 

Louis  delicately  admitted  some  knowledge  of  the 
offense.  "And  does  the  king  believe  that  I  will 
submit  to  such  an  outrage  without  enforcing 
exemplary  justice  in  my  household  ?  " 

In  the  face  of  the  royal  lady's  unassumed  anger, 
the  perplexed  French  ministers  were  forced  to 
reply  that  they  had  no  objection  to  her  killing 
any  or  dl  of  her  subjects,  but  that  they  really 
wished  that  she  wouldn't  do  it  while  in  France. 
And  if  she  had  to  mess  up  tessellated  marble 
floors  with  offending  gentlemen's  heads,  would  n't 
she  kindly  —  er  —  er  —  go  away  ? 

Which  Christina  did. 

This  delicate  and  extrinsic  attitude  of  the  French 
government  has  always  reminded  me  of  the  old 
story  of  the  epileptic  tramp  who  says  to  the  good 
housewife  at  her  front-door,  "Say,  lady,  can  I 
have  a  fit  in  your  front-yard  ? "  To  which  the 
practical  lady  replies,  kindly,  "No;  go  around  to 
the  back-yard;  here  you  would  muss  up  the 
flower-beds." 

So  Christina  of  Sweden  shook  the  dust  of  King 
Louis's  park-walks  and  flower-beds  from  her  feet, 
and  left  his  dominions.  She  never  entered  them 
again.  She  never  forgave  him.  It  was  shortly 
after  these  events  that  she  went  to  live  in  Rome. 

It  is  certainly  queer  that  a  lady  of  such  ingen- 
179 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

uous  immorality  should  be  buried  in  St.  Peter's. 
But  the  Popes  have  frequently  been  blind  to 
moral  obliquities.  Once  a  year  it  is  a  custom 
of  the  Popes  to  confer  the  Golden  Rose  upon 
some  distinguished  Roman  Catholic  lady.  Some 
years  ago  it  was  given  to  ex-Queen  Isabella  of 
Spain.  It  will  be  remembered  that  this  lady,  for 
political  reasons,  was  married  to  her  cousin,  Don 
Francisco  d*Assissi,  who  did  not  become  a  father. 
But  Queen  Isabella  believed  that  the  royal  line 
must  be  unbroken,  so  she  presented  Don  Fran- 
cisco with  several  children.  One  of  these  was 
Alfonso,  father  of  the  present  Spanish  king. 
Alfonso  was  not  a  wise  child.  However  that 
may  be,  it  was  to  his  mother.  Queen  Isabella,  that 
Pope  Pius  the  Ninth  presented  the  Golden  Rose 
—  for  chastity. 

When  Queen  Isabella  dies  they  ought  to  bury 
her  in  St.  Peter's  beside  Queen  Christina  of 
Sweden. 


i8o 


THE   WHEELS    OF   THE   VATICAN 

DOES  the  Vatican  contain  eleven  thousand 
rooms?  No.  Does  any  one  believe  that 
it  does?  Yes,  many.  The  statement  has  been  so 
often  repeated  that  it  has  become  a  classic  lie. 
But  I  shall  not  attempt  here  to  gainsay  any  guide- 
book statements  about  the  Papal  Palace.  Out 
of  the  vast  volume  of  printed  matter  concerning 
the  Vatican,  its  statues,  its  pictures,  its  mosaics,  its 
chapels,  and  its  halls,  I  have  seen  next  to  nothing 
in  print  about  two  items — its  gardens  and  its 
wheels.  By  "wheels"  I  mean  the  machinery  by 
which  it  runs.  For  the  way  in  which  they  manage 
a  microcosm  like  the  Vatican  has  always  interested 
me.  I  did  not  know  how  the  Vatican  was  policed 
and  lighted;  how  it  was  governed  within  another 
government;  how  the  boundaries  were  maintained  ; 
of  where  jurisdiction  left  off  and  began.  For 
example :  If  two  drunken  men  had  a  fight  in 
the  Vatican  precincts,  who  arrested  them  ?  Where 
were   they   taken?     By  whom  were  thev  tried? 

i8i 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Were  they  turned  over  to  the  Itahan  poHce? 
Or  were  they  taken  before  the  Inquisition,  Police 
Court  Number  One  ? 

Some  of  these  questions  I  settled  on  the  day  of 
a  great  canonization  ceremony  at  St.  Peter's.  The 
square  was  occupied  by  Humbert's  troops.  Up 
to  the  very  doors  one  noted  the  municipal  police 
of  Rome.  Within,  however,  the  troops  and 
peace  officers  were  all  Papal.  On  inquiry  I  learned 
that  this  was  the  rule.  The  exterior  of  the  Vati- 
can is  under  the  surveillance  of  the  Italian  poHce. 
Before  the  Gate  of  Bronze  come  and  go  the 
carabineers  and  the  peace  officers  of  Rome, 
and  there  are  even  detectives  in  plain  clothes. 
At  the  consulta  the  officials  in  charge  inquire  care- 
fully as  to  who  it  is  that  enters  and  who  it  is  that 
goes  out. 

On  the  way  to  the  Vatican  Gardens,  on  the 
other  side  of  St.  Peter's,  one  notices  even  more 
markedly,  how  the  Papacy  and  the  Italian  gov- 
ernment confront  each  other.  You  walk  around 
St.  Peter's  and  reach  the  Zecca,  the  ancient  pon- 
tifical mint,  which  the  Italian  government  occu- 
pies. By  a  great  gateway  you  enter  the  Cortile  del 
Forno,  and  there  abruptly  the  two  powers  appear 
face  to  face.  On  the  right  you  see  the  post  of 
the  Italian  soldiers ;  on  the  left  you  see  the  post 

182 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

of  the  Swiss  pontifical  troops.  A  fountain  serves 
as  a  sort  of  boundary,  which  the  sentries  of  each 
side  never  cross.  It  is  the  frontier.  For  a  back- 
ground we  have  the  Vatican,  beyond  is  St.  Peter's, 
then  the  Zecca,  and  the  wall  before  which  the 
Italian  sentry  walks  his  allotted  ground,  his  gun 
slung  in  a  bandoleer. 

It  is  by  this  gateway,  where  the  Swiss  mount 
guard,  that  the  Pope  last  left  the  Vatican  on  the 
fifteenth  of  July,  1890.  The  carriage  of  the 
PontiflF  traversed  the  Cortile,  and  by  another 
Vatican  door,  which  is  on  the  third  side  of  the 
square,  entered  the  closed  part  of  the  palace.  This 
event  caused  fierce  discussion.  Was  the  Cortile 
del  Forno  pontifical  territory,  or  was  it  not?  It 
was  finally  decided  that  the  Vatican  had  extra- 
territoriality, and  that  the  frontier  line  was  indi- 
cated by  the  first  step  on  the  street  of  the  Zecca ; 
but  this  discussion  led  to  some  declarations  on 
the  part  of  the  Italian  government,  which  caused 
great  excitement  in  the  Papal  camp.  The  Vati- 
can learned  officially  "that  there  is  no  pontifical 
territory;"  that  the  Pope  "merely  enjoys  the  use 
of  the  Vatican;"  and  that  the  pontifical  extra- 
territoriality is  worth  no  more  and  no  less  than 
that  which  diplomatic  usage  confers  on  embassa- 
dors.    The  partisans   of  the   Pope  insisted  that 

183 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

this  was  equivalent  to  saying  that  Leo  was  a  sub- 
ject of  the  king. 

On  your  way  to  the  Vatican  across  the  new 
steel  bridge  which  spans  the  Tiber  by  the  Castle 
of  St.  Angelo,  you  enter  the  quarter  of  the  Tras- 
teverini^  or  trans -Tiberian  people.  Here  you 
seem  to  go  from  the  new  Rome  into  the  old. 
For  you  have  left  the  busy,  bustling  Corso,  with 
its  handsome  buildings,  its  fine  pavement,  its  vista 
of  electric  lamps,  and  the  well-dressed  throngs  of 
modern  Romans  in  conventional  garb,  who  per- 
haps are  descended  from  the  patricians  of  the  time 
of  Augustus  Caesar.  When  you  cross  the  Tiber, 
you  are  in  the  home  of  the  Trasteverines,  who 
have  lived  for  ages  in  the  same  quarter,  and  who 
are  said  to  be  lineal  descendants  of  the  Roman 
mob  who  burned  Christians  for  their  play.  You 
are  in  the  Trasteverino,  you  are  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Leonine  City,  and  you  look  for  the  Vatican. 
It  is  a  shapeless  mass  of  buildings.  There  are 
rooms,  galleries,  libraries,  and  interminable  cor- 
ridors. There  is  a  strange  interior  city,  which 
stretches  out  its  wonders  without  end,  cut  up  with 
courtyards  and  passageways,  through  which  you 
walk  with  wearied  limbs.  But  from  the  Piazza 
San  Pietro,  or  the  square  in  front  of  the  great 
church  of    St.  Peter's,  nothing  of  this  appears. 

184 


^\B  RA  fry* 
UNIVERSITY 


*'/«  the  quaint  gardens  of  the  Vatican.' 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE   VATICAN 

The  only  details  visible  from  there  are  the  win- 
dows, behind  which  for  so  many  years  has  lived 
the  Roman  Pontiff  in  his  voluntary  imprison- 
ment. 

But  from  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  there  is  a 
more  comprehensive  view.  There  the  extent  of 
the  Vatican  may  be  seen,  with  its  piles  of  build- 
ings, its  fortress-like  walls,  its  formidable  bastions, 
and  its  quaint  gardens.  It  is  from  the  dome  that 
most  tourists  obtain  a  view  of  the  Pope  taking 
his  daily  drive. 

Every  day  during  certain  hours  he  makes  a 
tour  of  the  gardens.  They  extend  from  the  Bel- 
vedere, which  includes  the  beautiful  Giardino 
della  Pigna,  to  the  walls  flanked  with  the  ancient 
towers  of  the  Leonine  City.  The  view  of  the 
Vatican  gardens  from  the  cupola  of  St.  Peter's  is 
very  beautiful.  Around  you  extends  the  marvel- 
ous panorama  of  the  environs  of  Rome,  with  the 
Valley  of  the  Tiber,  and  the  vast  brownish  plain 
of  the  Campagna  extending  toward  the  sea. 
Under  the  walls  of  the  Leonine  City  are  newly 
built  quarters,  where  numbers  of  apartment- 
houses  of  the  most  modern  type  lift  up  their 
heads.  It  is  the  remnant  of  a  "building  boom" 
in  one  of  the  oldest  cities  in  the  world.  These 
buildings  are  most  of  them  unfinished,  and  the 

185 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

rain  beats  in  upon  their  roofless  walls.  The  entire 
quarter  will  soon  be  nothing  but  a  heap  of  modern 
ruins,  mute  witness  of  the  transitory  nature  of  real- 
estate  "booms." 

The  Pope  goes  out  from  his  apartments  in  a 
portantine^  or  sedan-chair.  He  is  preceded  by  two 
Swiss  halberdiers  and  two  of  the  Noble  Guard ; 
an  exempt  officer  of  the  Noble  Guard,  a  chamber- 
lain of  the  Secret  Chamber,  and  a  participante 
accompany  him.  Two  Swiss  Guards  bring  up  the 
rear.  At  the  gateway  of  the  gardens,  the  Pope 
enters  a  carriage  with  the  participante^  while  the 
Noble  Guard  escort  him  on  horseback.  The 
garden- walls — which,  it  seems,  people  have  often 
attempted  to  scale — are  under  the  special  guard 
of  the  gendarmes,  who  are  posted  from  point  to 
point  with  loaded  revolvers.  The  drive  lasts  for 
an  hour,  and  the  coachman  ingeniously  varies  the 
route.  The  return  is  conducted  with  the  same 
ceremonial.  The  Pope  again  gets  into  his  por- 
tantine.  The  Swiss  Guards  again  take  the  head 
of  the  procession.  Again  they  cross  the  galleries 
of  the  Giardino  della  Pigna,  sometimes  by  way  of 
the  library  or  the  Chirara  Monti  Museum,  or  it 
may  be  by  the  Hall  of  the  Signature,  or  by  the 
Hall  of  the  Conflagration,  or  by  the  Hall  of  Helio- 
dorus,  or  by  the  Hall  of  Constantine,  or  by  the 

i86 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

five  famous  rooms  of  Raphael,  which  lead  to  the 
Pontiff's  private  apartments.  The  Pope  must 
at  times  sigh  for  Castel  Gandolfo,  which  was  the 
summer  resort  of  his  predecessors.  This  castle  is 
on  Lake  Albano,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places 
on  the  Roman  Campagna. 

The  Noble  Guard,  the  Palatine  Guard,  the 
gendarme's^  and  the  Swiss  Guard  compose  all  that 
is  left  of  the  pontifical  army.  These  four  divis- 
ions are  much  reduced.  The  Noble  Guard  is 
recruited  among  the  Roman  aristocracy,  but  en- 
listment is  no  longer  popular  among  the  young 
Roman  nobles.  The  Papal  service  furnishes  no 
field  to  ambitious  youths.  It  leads  to  nothing. 
The  Noble  Guard  is  composed  of  fourteen  offi- 
cers, a  commander  with  the  rank  of  general,  the 
hereditary  standard-bearer  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Church,  a  lieutenant-general,  a  sub -lieutenant- 
general,  and  ten  exempt  colonels.  There  are 
eight  cadets  with  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel, 
ten  court  captains,  twenty  court  lieutenants,  and 
ten  supernumerary  guards.  Every  day,  one  ex- 
empt and  six  guards  are  on  service  in  the  ante- 
chambers of  the  Vatican.  The  Palatine  Guard, 
which  goes  back  only  to  the  days  of  Pius  the 
Ninth,  is  formed  of  middle-class  citizens  of  Rome, 
to  the  number  of  four  hundred.     The  legion  is 

187 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

commanded  by  a  colonel,  two  lieutenant-colonels, 
a  major,  and  two  captains.  The  Palatine  Guard 
appears  only  on  days  of  great  ceremony  at  St. 
Peter's  or  at  the  Sistine  Chapel.  This  guard  lines 
the  way  on  either  side  when  the  Pope  passes.  On 
days  of  audiences,  the  Palatines  act  as  guards  in 
the  antechamber.  The  gendarmes  are  charged 
with  the  exterior  poHce  of  the  palace.  They 
watch  over  the  court  of  St.  Damaso,  the  galleries, 
the  corridors,  and  the  gardens.  There  are  one 
hundred  and  twenty  men,  under  the  command  of 
a  major.  They  are  fine-looking  men,  in  hand- 
some uniforms,  wearing  bear-skin  shakos,  like 
grenadiers.  Some  Spanish  pilgrims  were  so  struck 
by  the  magnificence  of  these  bear-skinned  police- 
men that  they  broke  out  into  enthusiastic  plau- 
dits, and  declared  that  they  were  much  more 
impressed  by  the  Pope's  poHcemen  than  they 
were  by  the  Pope's  cardinals. 

The  gendarmes,  the  Palatines,  and  the  Noble 
Guard  are  only  show  soldiers.  The  true  troops 
of  the  Vatican  are  the  Swiss  Guards.  Many 
find  them  grotesque  in  their  curious  costume, 
which  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  likens  to  that  of 
the  Jack  of  Clubs.  They  are  strapping  fellows, 
and  carry  themselves  well  in  their  yellow,  red, 
and  black  garb  as  they  stand  under  the  enormous 

i88 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

white  and  yellow  pontifical  flag  which  floats  at 
the  interior  of  the  Portone.  The  Swiss  troops 
include  one  hundred  and  twenty  men,  and  are 
commanded  by  a  colonel,  a  lieutenant-colonel, 
and  a  major.  The  authority  they  exercise  is 
remarkable  —  even  over  the  cardinals  at  times. 
They  watch  the  interior  approaches  to  the  palace 
and  the  entrances  to  the  apartments.  At  several 
of  the  great  religious  ceremonials  of  the  Holy 
Year  they  appeared  in  their  steel  corselets,  and, 
with  their  enormous  two-handed  swords,  carried 
with  the  hilt  resting  on  the  shoulder  and  the 
blade  pointing  up  in  the  air,  they  surrounded  the 
gestatorial  chair  of  the  Pope. 

Around  the  Pontiff  is  an  assemblage  of  per- 
sons so  numerous,  and  whose  duties  are  so  com- 
plicated and  so  multifarious,  that  it  is  difficult  even 
to  understand  them,  their  offices,  and  their  eti- 
quette. Here  is  a  list  of  the  important  domestic 
servants  of  the  Pope :  The  decani^  or  elders ;  the 
sediari,  or  chair-bearers ;  the  hussolanti;  the  clerks, 
or  cintanti  di  camera;  the  mace-bearers,  the  war- 
dens with  silver  wands,  etc.  Every  variety  of 
functionary  has  its  own  costume.  Many  are  lay- 
men, although  some  of  them  wear  the  priest's 
soutane,  like  the  hussolanti.  This  is  the  domestic 
personnel  of  the  antechambers,  to  which  is  also 

189 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

attached,  although  of  course  on  a  much  higher 
social  scale,  the  cameriere  di  cap  a  e  di  spada,  or 
gentlemen  of  the  court.  There  are  five  hundred 
of  them.  There  are  one  hundred  and  ten  Cham- 
berlains of  Honor  of  the  Cloak  and  Sword,  two 
hundred  and  thirty  Chamberlains  of  the  Cloak 
and  Sword  di  numero,  and  finally  four  Secret 
Chamberlains  of  the  Cloak  and  Sword,  who  are 
of  the  most  ancient  nobility  of  Rome.  The  cos- 
tume of  ceremony  is  black  velvet  doublet,  black 
plumed  hat,  white  ruff,  black  silk  hose,  and  black 
velvet  mantle ;  around  the  neck  they  wear  a  gold- 
en chain  and  carry  a  sword  swung  in  a  baldric 
at  the  side.  When  at  minor  ceremonials,  they 
simply  wear  the  heavy  gold  chain  over  an  even- 
ing-coat. It  is  the  Secret  Chamberlains  of  the 
Cloak  and  Sword  who  receive  embassadors  and 
cardinals  in  the  Papal  antechambers.  All  of 
them  belong  to  the  Roman  nobility. 

The  services  of  the  antechambers  are  regulated 
by  the  most  minute  rules.  When,  for  example, 
a  cardinal  pays  a  visit  to  the  Pontiff,  he  is  first 
received  in  the  Hall  of  Constantine,  which  is 
occupied  by  the  Swiss  Guards,  who  present  arms. 
A  sediario^  one  of  the  persons  who  carry  the  Pope 
in  his  chair,  garbed  in  plum-colored  velvet,  ap- 
proaches,  bows,   and,  taking  the   little  red  sack 

190 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

from  the  hands  of  the  cardinal's  gentleman,  pre- 
cedes him  as  far  as  the  third  antechamber,  that  of 
the  gendarmes^  who,  in  their  turn,  present  arms. 
At  the  door  of  the  third  antechamber,  a  husso- 
lante,  in  a  violet  soutane,  approaches,  bows,  and 
precedes  the  cardinal  as  far  as  the  Hall  of  the 
Throne.  In  the  Hall  of  the  Throne,  he  is 
received  by  the  Secret  Chamberlains  of  the  Cloak 
and  Sword,  who  accompany  him  as  far  as  the 
Secret  Antechamber.  In  the  Secret  Antechamber, 
the  master  of  the  chamber  and  his  participante 
accompany  the  cardinal  up  to  the  moment  he  is 
received  by  the  Pope.  It  is  only  in  the  last  ante- 
chamber that  the  cardinal  takes  off  his  hat.  Up 
to  that  time  he  wears  it  by  special  privilege  allowed 
to  a  prelate  of  his  rank. 

The  Vatican  once  exercised  government  over 
things  as  well  as  souls.  It  therefore  was  obliged 
to  have  a  diplomatic  service,  an  army,  a  financial 
administration,  courts,  and  everything  which  con- 
stitutes a  civil  organization.  This  social  order 
vanished  in  1870,  when  the  Vatican  government 
became  a  purely  theoretical  thing.  Nevertheless, 
certain  vestiges  remain  of  the  governmental  attri- 
butes of  former  times.  The  Vatican  used  to  have 
forges,  foundries,  and  various  other  manufactories. 
It  had  within  the  precincts  of  the  Vatican  an  arsenal, 

191 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

a  mint,  an  establishment  where  mosaics  and  tapes- 
tries were  made,  an  industrial  and  artistic  city, 
where  a  people  lived  by  their  manufactures  alone. 
The  arsenal  and  the  mint  are  to-day  in  the  hands 
of  the  Italian  government.  There  remain  to 
the  Vatican  its  tapestry  factory,  at  present  idle 
from  lack  of  money,  and  its  manufactory  for 
mosaics,  which  still  maintains  a  number  of  work- 
men. 


But  leaving  the  machinery  of  the  Papal  gov- 
ernment, let  us  take  a  look  at  the  gardens  of  the 
Vatican.  From  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  we  had 
inspected  the  gardens  through  glasses,  and  had 
seen  the  Pope  making  his  rounds.  For  a  long 
time  the  gardens  had  been  closed  to  the  public. 
The  guide-books  were  silent  about  them,  the 
photographers  had  no  views  of  them  on  sale.  So 
when  we  learned  that  the  gardens  were  to  be  tem- 
porarily thrown  open  to  the  pilgrims,  we  hastened 
thither,  for  we  were  pilgrims,  too.  We  found  to 
our  delight  that  the  other  pilgrims  apparently 
had  not  yet  heard  of  it,  for  the  gardens  were 
practically  deserted. 

For  an  hour  we  wandered  through  them  and 
met  no  man  —  or  woman  either,  as  Hamlet  says 

192 


71ie  stiff'est  style  oj  landscape  gardening.''' 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

—  save  two  or  three  aged  gardeners.  For  all 
things  in  the  Vatican  gardens,  even  the  gardeners, 
seem  to  be  old.  The  gardens  are  not  many  acres 
in  extent,  but  they  seem  larger  than  they  really 
are.  The  walks  and  drives  are  laid  out  with  much 
skill,  and  are  shut  off  by  lofty  boxwood  hedges. 
It  is  possible,  therefore,  to  wander  for  a  long  dis- 
tance without  retracing  one's  steps.  The  gardens 
are  a  quaint  and  pleasing  mixture  of  primness  and 
wildness.  Immediately  at  the  entrance  you  find 
some  acres  of  flower-beds,  laid  out  in  the  stifFest 
style  of  landscape  gardening.  But  leaving  this  in  a 
winding  walk  which  climbs  a  hill,  you  are  speedily 
lost  in  a  forest  of  trees,  which  shuts  off  the  view 
completely.  Here  you  might  believe  yourself  far 
from  a  city,  were  it  not  that  you  distinctly  hear 
the  muffled  roar  of  Rome.  Under  the  dense 
shade  of  these  ancient  trees  are  old  fountains,  old 
statues,  old  arches,  old  columns  —  everything  is 
moss-grown  and  old.  Ferns  grow  luxuriantly  in 
this  dense  and  humid  shade  —  delicate  maiden's- 
hair  as  well  as  the  more  hardy  brakes. 

The  hillside  climbed,  we  came  out  of  the  shade 
and  into  the  sun.  On  the  sunny  side  of  the  hill 
we  found  a  small  vineyard,  a  small  orchard,  a 
small  poultry-yard,  a  small  deer-park,  and  a  small 
ostrich-pen.     Here    there    are  several  pavilions, 

N  193 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

or  summer-houses,  which  the  Pope  at  times 
occupies,  and  from  which  magnificent  views  may 
be  had  of  Rome  and  the  Campagna. 

At  this  point  one  of  the  venerable  gardeners 
approached  us,  and  with  much  impressiveness  led 
us  to  a  summer-house  and  showed  us  a  peep- 
hole, through  which  we  could  see  the  very  chair 
in  which  the  Holy  Father  had  sat.  Price,  twenty 
cents.  But  the  gardener  was  an  amusing  old  soul, 
and  seeing  a  chance  of  another  tip,  he  escorted  us 
around  the  "ranch" — for  the  mixture  of  orchard, 
vineyard,  and  poultry-yard  inevitably  suggested 
that  term.  Here  we  encountered  two  tourist 
priests,  who,  seeing,  that  the  gardener  was  acting 
as  cicerone i  immediately  followed  and  listened 
to  his  prattle.  For  half  an  hour  they  stuck  to 
us,  disappearing  only  when  the  time  came  to 
settle,  when  they  swiftly  vanished.  They  were 
dark  -  browed,  dark  -  complexioned  fellows,  and 
uttered  no  sound  as  they  stalked  behind  us,  with 
their  black  skirts  flapping  around  their  sturdy 
legs.  I  wondered  whether  they  could  be  Italians. 
The  dialogue  between  the  gardener  and  myself 
was  of  a  nature  to  make  Ariosto  weep  and  Tasso 
grieve.  I  am  not  strong  in  Italian;  I  can  make 
myself  understood  in  it,  but  I  speak  English 
much   better.      If  those  priests  were   Italian,   I 

194 


BRA 


XJNIVERSir 


"  The  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's  from  the  Vatican  hill. 


THE  WHEELS    OF   THE  VATICAN 

shudder  when  I  think  of  that  dialogue.  But  if 
they  were  Italian,  and  could  listen  to  it  with 
gravity,  I  greatly  admire  their  self-control. 

The  old  gardener  parted  from  us  with  regret, 
after  having  sold  us  some  cuttings  from  plants. 
His  regret  was  over  not  asking  for  more.  He 
was  a  nice  old  man,  but  a  trifle  mercenary.  Most 
of  the  Vatican  servants  are. 

When  we  left  the  old  gardener  we  started  to 
return  by  what  we  thought  to  be  the  same  route, 
but  it  led  us  into  an  entirely  different  part  of  the 
grounds.  Here  we  climbed  a  hill  which  was  the 
highest  in  the  gardens.  I  think  that  we  must 
have  been  on  the  top  of  Mons  Vaticanus.  At 
our  feet  lay  the  vast  pile  of  buildings  which 
together  are  called  the  Vatican.  Apparently  on 
a  level  with  us  was  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's. 
Around  the  railing  at  the  top  we  could  see  the 
minute  figures  of  tourists  looking  from  the  dome 
at  the  Vatican  gardens.  From  there  we  descended 
the  hill  and  made  our  way  back  toward  the  gate- 
way. We  passed  the  building  called  "Casino  del 
Papa,"  where  the  Popes  used  to  dwell  during  the 
torrid  days  of  summer.  It  is  a  handsome  build- 
ing, covered  with  the  self-laudatory  inscriptions 
of  the  various  Popes  who  have  adorned  it.  Not 
only  in  the  Vatican  gardens  but  all  over  Rome 

195 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

you  see  magniloquent  inscriptions  setting  forth 
the  astounding  virtues  of  the  various  Popes  who 
repaired  bridges,  or  restored  facades  — "  Most 
munificent  Prince,  Pius" — "Most  virtuous 
Prince,  Clement" — "  Most  learned  Prince,  Six- 
tus."  If  the  Popes  have  had  a  besetting  sin,  it 
is  not  modesty. 

As  we  were  making  our  way  toward  the  exit 
we  met  another  tourist  priest — an  old  Italian — 
who  had  apparently  lost  his  way.  He  asked  us 
about  it,  and  we  set  him  right.  He  was  unmis- 
takably a  tourist,  for  he  had  a  guide-book,  and 
pointing  to  a  tower  told  us  it  was  the  Borgia 
Tower.  He  meant  well,  but  the  gardener  had 
already  told  us  it  was  the  Leonine  Tower.  He 
was  completely  lost. 

Fancy  two  pilgrims  from  Western  America  tell- 
ing an  Italian  priest  how  to  find  his  way  about  the 
gardens  of  the  Vatican ! 


196 


The  gardener  told  us  it  was  the  Leonine  Tower.'" 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

THE  Roman  aldermen  head  all  their  official 
notices  with  the  legend  "S.  P.  Q.  R."  These 
letters  were  once  carried  on  the  eagles  of  the 
Roman  legions  from  what  is  now  London  to 
what  is  now  Constantinople,  from  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules  to  the  Baltic  Sea.  These  letters  still  con- 
front one  on  the  gigantic  ruins  which  the  ancient 
Romans  left  to  modern  Rome.  The  "Senate 
and  People  of  Rome"  builded  for  all  time. 

But  there  is  a  certain  lack  of  humor  in  the 
modern  Italian  mind.  To  use  these  imposing 
letters  nowadays  for  lesser  things  seems  slightly- 
ludicrous.  Yet  you  continually  see  them  so  used 
by  the  Roman  aldermen: 

"S.  P.  Q.  R. —  Notice  of  a  street  assessment  on  the 
Corso." 

"S.  P.  Q.  R. —  New  sidewalk  to  be  laid  on  the  Ap- 
pian  Way.'* 

"S.  P.  Q.  R. —  Bicycles  not  allowed  after  midday  on 
the  Pincian  Hill." 

197 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

"S.  P.  Q.  R. —  Lowering  the  grade  of  Bonella  Street 
beside  the  Roman  Forum." 

"S.  P.  Q.  R. —  Specifications  for  constructing  a  new 
sewer  from  the  Fountain  of  Trevi." 

It  has  long  been  believed  that  the  most  sudden 
fall  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  is  the  cry 
of  the  Oriental  hawker:  "In  the  name  of  the 
Prophet — Figs!"  But  it  has  been  surpassed. 
The  Roman  aldermen  have  posted  up  this  notice 
in  the  Senate  House  on  the  Capitoline  Hill: 

S.  P.  Q.  R. 
NoN  Sputate  sul  Pavimento  ! 

It  seenis  scarcely  credible,  but  it  is  true.  In 
Rome,  in  1906,  this  notice  stares  at  you  from 
historic  walls: 

In  the  Name  of 

The  Senate  and   People  of  Rome: 

Don't  Spit  on  the  Floor! 


When  I  first  visited  Rome,  some  years  ago,  I 
was  struck  by  its  air  of  modernness.  First  im- 
pressions are  always  the  most  sharply  defined. 
On  a  second  visit  I  was  not  surprised  at  the 
excellence   of    its    pavements,   the    order    of    its 

198 


\  3  rt^ 


S.   p.   Q.   R. 

Streets  by  day,  and  the  brilliant  lighting  of  its 
streets  by  night.  But  the  electric  tramways — 
new  since  a  former  visit — came  upon  me  with 
a  slight  shock  of  surprise.  Fancy  going  clear 
across  Rome  by  a  "trolley-car"  from  the  Quiri- 
nal  Hill  and  over  the  Forum  to  the  Vatican ! 

Let  no  hasty  person  accuse  me  of  anglomania 
for  using  the  word  "  tram.''  It  is  an  old  word  in 
both  America  and  England,  and  was  used  in 
mines  before  there  were  any  street-cars.  Further- 
more, the  word  is  so  short  and  expressive  that  it 
has  made  its  way  into  other  languages.  Instead 
of  strada  f err  at  a,  the  Italians  say  tramvia  or  tram. 
Instead  of  camino  de  hierro^  the  Spaniards  say 
tranvia  or  tran.  Why,  then,  should  practical 
Americans  cling  to  such  clumsy  neologisms  as 
"  street-railway  lines,"  "  street-car  line,"  "  cable- 
car  line,"  "  cable  street-car  line,"  and  "  electric 
street-car  line"?  They  are  meaningless  as  well 
as  clumsy,  for  the  lines  frequently  run  out  of 
towns  and  into  suburbs,  ceasing  to  be  "  street " 
lines.  A  feeble  attempt  is  being  made  to  change 
the  name  of  the  electric  tram  to  "  trolley,"  but 
this  will  speedily  be  meaningless,  also,  as  the 
overhead  trolley  is  doomed  to  disappear.  In 
most  European  cities  it  is  not  allowed  within 
municipal  limits,  but  only  in  the  suburbs. 

199 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Of  the  many  modern  things  in  Rome  that 
struck  me,  one  was  the  tram  question  and  another 
the  board  of  aldermen.  They  call  it  the  "  com- 
munal council "  there,  and  the  mayor  is  styled 
the  "syndic."  The  Roman  aldermen  and  the 
Roman  people  in  1 900  were  greatly  agitated  over 
tramway  franchises  and  city  squares.  American 
cities  are  always  in  a  fever  over  street-railway 
franchises,  and  generally  quarreling  over  city 
squares.  The  municipal  resemblances  between 
these  ancient  and  modern  cities  must  strike  the 
most  casual  observer. 

Rome's  question  was  complex.  Briefly,  the 
Piazza  Colonna  is  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  It 
is  small.  From  it  runs  the  Via  del  Tritone,  which 
is  narrow.  You  see  there  the  equipages  of  princes, 
the  carriages  of  cardinals,  and  the  brilliant  liveries 
of  the  queen's  coachmen,  cheek  by  jowl  with 
donkeys,  hand-barrows,  and  wine-carts  from  the 
Campagna.  The  Street  of  the  Triton  is  the  out- 
let from  the  Piazza  Colonna. 

In  the  Piazza  Colonna  affair  a  number  of  the 
Roman  aldermen  were  in  favor  of  erecting  a  pub- 
lic building  upon  the  piazza.  Others  opposed 
this.  Hence  acrimonious  discussion.  Some  of 
the  Roman  newspapers  said  there  was  a  "job'* 
in  it.     Very  likely  there  was.     The  Osservatore 

200 


The  Piazza  Colonna,  with  the  beautiful  column 
of  Marcus  Aure/ius." 


U»B« 


^^iVERsirr 


S.  p.  Q,  R. 

Romano,  the  Vatican  organ,  uttered  fierce  howls 
daily,  declaring  that  the  beautiful  Rome  of  the 
Popes  was  being  defiled  by  vandal  hands  unfit  to 
control  it. 

The  tramway  scheme  was  to  run  a  line  along 
the  narrow  and  crowded  Via  Tritone.  How  they 
could  run  one  there  I  do  not  see.  It  is  barely 
possible  for*  two  carriages  to  pass,  and  the  side- 
walk is  about  two  feet  wide. 

Modern  Rome  is  now  extending  her  electric 
tramways  and  her  electric-lighting  system ;  she  is 
about  to  pierce  the  Quirinal  Hill  with  a  tunnel  to 
facilitate  traffic ;  she  is  erecting  a  new  palace  of 
justice ;  she  is  completing  new  quays  and  begin- 
ning new  bridges  over  the  ^  Tiber ;  she  is  about 
to  erect  a  new  monument  to  Victor  Emanuel  on 
the  capitol ;  and  she  is  discussing  the  enlargement 
of  both  the  Piazza  Colonna  and  the  Piazza  Ve- 
nezia. 

Concerning  this  latter,  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how  the  public  controls  private  property  in  Italy. 
The  Palazzo  Torlonia  is  on  the  Piazza  Venezia. 
Princess  Anna  Maria  Torlonia  is  the  owner.  This 
year,  after  much  negotiation  between  her  and  the 
city,  it  was  agreed  :  i .  That  the  Torlonia  Palace 
should  be  torn  down.  2.  That  the  Torlonia 
family    should    erect    a    new    and    smaller    one. 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

3.  That  the  space  thus  gained  should  form  part 
henceforth  of  the  Piazza  Venezia.  4.  That  the 
new  palace  should  cost  not  less  than  so  many 
millions.  5.  That  its  plans  must  be  approved 
by  the  government  before  work  began.  6.  That 
the  palace  must  be  completed  at  such  a  date.  7. 
That  the  government  would  indemnify  the  Tor- 
Ionia  family  for  the  land,  in  installments  running 
over  a  long  term  of  years. 

These  were  the  questions  which  were  agitating 
modern  Rome  in  1900. 


One  of  the  odd  features  of  the  Roman  news- 
papers is  the  small  number  of  advertisements. 
They  publish  very  few,  and  these  are  nearly  all 
advertisements  of  patent  medicines.  From  the 
number  and  variety  of  these  remedies  one  would 
imagine  that  half  the  population  of  Italy  have 
weak  lungs  and  the  other  half  weak  stomachs. 
It  is  said  that  the  Italians  are  extremely  prone 
to  dosing  themselves.  The  scant  display  of 
advertisements  in  the  newspapers  accounts  for 
the  extraordinary  display  of  posters  upon  the  dead- 
walls.  In  foreign  cities  I  am  in  the  habit  of  read- 
ing newspaper  advertisements.  They  shed  much 
light  on  the  manners,  customs,  and  often  on  the 

202 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

morals  of  the  natives.  In  Rome  this  source  of 
information  was  denied  me.  I  was  forced  from 
the  newspapers  to  study  the  hoardings.  It  is 
not  so  convenient  as  looking  at  newspaper  adver- 
tisements, but  it  is  certainly  instructive. 

Upon  the  walls  of  Rome  one  finds  many  of 
the  kind  of  announcements  found  in  American 
newspapers;  and  many  not  found  there.  There 
are,  of  course,  the  staple  posters  found  in  every 
city — theatre-bills,  variety-shows,  and  amusements 
generally.  These  present  no  interesting  features. 
The  school  of  "artistic  posters''  founded  by 
Cheret  in  Paris  has  found  no  disciples  in  Rome. 
The  theatre-bills  are  utterly  without  interest — 
as  for  that  matter  are  the  theatres.  For  exam- 
ple, the  favorite  operatic  prima  donna  of  Rome 
is  Gemma  Bellincioni,  a  painstaking  but  mediocre 
artist,  who  would  rank  fourth-rate  in  Paris,  Lon- 
don, or  New  York. 

Next  to  the  theatre-posters  are  the  official 
notices  of  the  municipality.  These  municipal 
notices,  as  well  as  government  proclamations,  are 
printed  on  white  paper,  which,  in  Italy  as  in 
France,  is  reserved  to  the  state.  Many  of  the 
government  proclamations  are  notices  of  conscrip- 
tion. The  young  men  subject  to  duty  in  the 
various  military  districts  are  thus  called  to  arms: 

203 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

**  Every  Italian  in  the  first  military  district  of 
Rome  who  was  twenty-one  years  of  age  on 
March  i,  1900,  who  has  not  served  in  the  army, 
and  whose  name  begins  with  any  letter  between 
A  and  M,  will  report  at ." 

There  are  many  posters  announcing  auction 
and  other  sales  of  furniture,  tapestries,  libraries, 
paintings,  antiquities,  "objects  of  art,"  and  bric- 
a-brac  generally.  At  home  we  always  found  such 
sales  advertised  in  the  newspapers.  It  is  a  little 
annoying  not  to  find  them  in  the  Roman  jour- 
nals. You  remember  to  have  seen,  for  example, 
a  poster  announcing  that  "the  library  of  the  late 

Marquis  Angelelli  is  for  sale  at ."     When 

you  reach  this  point  your  cab  turns  a  corner  and 
the  poster  vanishes.  You  make  a  mental  note 
of  the  sale,  and  determine  to  find  out  where  and 
when  the  late  Angelelli's  bibliographical  treasures 
are  to  be  sold.  Vain  thought !  Fruitless  quest ! 
Arrived  at  home,  you  search  the  morning  papers, 
the  evening  papers,  all  the  papers.  No  result. 
The  papers  know  not  Angelelli.  For  them  An- 
gelelli fuit.     And  for  you,  too,  apparently. 

But  you  are  persevering.  You  think  you  can 
find  the  Angelelli  poster.  You  connect  it  vaguely 
with  a  red-headed  beggar.  A  red-headed  Italian 
beggar  seems  odd  to    you,  but  there   are  such. 

204 


S.   p.   Q.  R. 

You  charter  a  cab.  You  tell  the  cabman  that 
you  think  you  saw  a  red-headed  beggar  pretend- 
ing to  sell  pencils  on  the  Via  Quattro  Fontane, 
around  the  corner  from  the  Via  Venti  Settembre, 
where  it  runs  down  a  hill.  This  position  is  chosen 
so  that  the  red-headed  beggar  can  easily  pursue 
carriages  with  his  pencils.  You  tell  him  that 
somewhere ,  along  the  beggar's  beat  there  is  a 
poster  you  wish  to  find.  The  cabman  looks  at 
you  as  if  you  were  mad.  But  as  the  Roman 
populace  believe  that  the  Americans  and  English 
are  all  crazy  anyway,  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  and 
drives  off.  You  find  the  Street  of  the  Four  Foun- 
tains; you  find  the  hill;  you  find  the  red-headed 
beggar;  you  find  the  poster.  But,  alas!  it  only 
goes  as  far  as  "the   library  of  the  late  Marquis 

Angelelli  is  for  sale  at ."     The  where  and 

the  when  vanished  again.  A  Roman  bill-sticker 
has  covered  the  Angelelli  bill  with  a  lovely 
chromo-lithograph,  headed  "Rome  and  the  Sea,'* 
representing  a  very  pink  lady,  very  lightly  clad, 
about  to  take  a  dip,  followed  by  an  urgent  appeal 
to  Romans  to  buy  shares  of  stock  in  a  new  rail- 
way and  sea-bathing  corporation  at  Civita  Vecchia. 
Fancy  floating  a  stock -company  in  America  by 
gaudy  posters  on  the  walls !  After  much  travail 
and  some  days'  disappointment,  you  accidentally 

205 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

discover  another  Angelelli  poster,  and  find  that 
the  Angelelli  sale  has  been  going  on  daily  for  a 
week,  that  it  contained  gems  priceless  to  a  book- 
lover,  and  that  it  was  finished  the  day  before  yes- 
terday. 

The  late  Angelelli  really  was  a  marquis,  but 
I  had  grave  doubts  as  to  the  nobility  of  all  the 
noble  advertisers  on  the  Roman  walls.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  sales  by  commoners.  For  ex- 
ample, there  was  a  sale  of  "the  furniture  and 
objects  of  art  of  a  noble  Sicilian  family."  Yet 
even  in  the  gaudy  rhetoric  of  the  auctioneer  the 
noble  Sicilian  family's  goods  and  chattels  sounded 
to  me  very  much  like  those  of  a  fairly  well-to-do 
American  family.  All  the  sales  advertised  upon 
the  walls  were  of  "noble  Neapolitan  families,*' 
"  noble  Piedmontese  families,"  and  "  distinguished 
foreign  families."  I  noticed  no  distinguished 
Roman  families  among  them.  In  selling  dead 
men's  gear,  the  posters  spoke  out  frankly,  as  in 
the  case  of  Angelelli.  Sometimes  they  left  out 
the  name.  One  poster  read  :  "  Sale  of  the  library 
of  a  distinguished  prelate  of  the  court  of  His 
Holiness." 

The  amateur  amusements  seemed  to  be  more 
attractively  advertised  than  the  theatrical  enter- 
tainments.   A  poster  giving  particulars  concerning 

206 


S.   p.   Q.  R. 

an  "equestrian  mediaeval  tournament"  was  long, 
and  couched  in  the  stilted  and  high-flown  language 
of  the  middle  ages.  It  was  quite  cleverly  written, 
and  set  forth  that  there  would  be  a  tournament 
on  such  a  day  ;  that  it  would  take  place  outside  the 
Porto  del  Popolo ;  that  the  director  of  the  tour- 
nament would  be  Prince  Felice  Borghese ;  that 
most  of  the  cavaliers  would  be  Roman  knights ; 
that  the  field  of  the  tournament  would  be  gay 
with  the  banners  of  the  various  knights ;  that  the 
knights  would  wear  armor  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury ;  that  the  combats  would  be  with  sword  and 
lance ;  that  each  knight  would  make  the  round 
of  the  amphitheatre,  saluting  the  lady  whom  he 
wished  to  hail  as  queen  of  love  and  beauty  ;  that 
any  lady  so  saluted  might  give  to  the  knight  a 
token,  such  as  a  glove  or  flower,  to  wear  as  a 
favor  in  his  casque  ;  that  the  lady  before  whose 
champion  all  other  knights  go  down  would  be 
crowned  queen  of  the  tournament.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  list  of  the  knights  already  entered  for 
the  tournament,  among  whom  we  recognized 
such  familiar  names  as  Rolando  of  Roncesvalles, 
Edoardo  the  Black  Prince,  and  Ricardo  of  the 
Lion  Heart. 

In  most   Latin  countries  you  see  little  card- 
board sheets  of  note-paper  size,  affixed  to  walls  and 

207 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

lamp-posts,  announcing  deaths.  In  our  country 
you  still  find  them  in  New  Orleans.  In  Rome 
they  are  replaced  by  posters.  A  large  and  staring 
placard,  about  three  feet  by  four,  says :  "  After  a 
long  and  painful  illness  Edoardo  Giovanilli  has 
ceased  to  live.  His  exquisite  gifts  of  heart  and 
mind  (squisiti  doti  dei  mente  e  di  cuore)  made  it  a 
high  privilege  to  possess  his  acquaintance.  His 
loss  is  irreparable.  His  funeral  will  take  place 
from  the  Street  of  the  Sow,  No.  96."  In  the 
way  of  funeral  posters,  there  was  in  Rome  a 
placard  from  the  municipality  prescribing  the 
maximum  charges  for  funerals  of  the  first,  sec- 
ond, third,  and  fourth  grades. 

The  "  summer  resorts  *'  and  watering  -  places 
also  advertise  on  dead-walls.  Merely  to  show 
their  prices,  I  note  the  poster  of  Uliveto,  a  well- 
known  Italian  resort,  which  thus  advertised  its 
opening.  It  has  famous  mineral  springs,  hotel 
with  electric  lights,  elevators,  postal  and  telegraphic 
bureaus.  It  advertises  a  long  list  of  physicians, 
and  it  winds  up  with  its  prices,  which,  given  in 
American  money,  are  :  "  Rooms,  from  40  to  60 
cents  a  day ;  breakfast,  luncheon,  and  dinner,  in- 
cluding wine  twice  daily,  90  cents  a  day ;  20  per 
cent,  reduction  to  military  officers,  physicians,  and 
their  wives  and  families." 

208 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

These  are  a  few  among  the  many  odd  advertise- 
ments which  appear  upon  the  dead-walls  of  Rome. 
Not  perhaps  odd  intrinsically,  but  because  they 
are  of  the  kind  usually  found  in  newspapers.  For 
example,  you  see  staring  posters  announcing 
"  handsome  rewards  "  for  the  return  of  lost  dogs, 
lost  opera-glasses,  lost  fans,  jewelry,  and  all  sorts 
of  trinkets.  .The  somnambulist,  Anna  d'Amico, 
advertises  her  magnetic  cabinet,  in  which  she  gives 
answers  to  "  persons  who  are  unhappy  in  love, 
persons  who  are  troubled  in  business,  and  per- 
sons about  undertaking  journeys,"  at  the  mod- 
erate fee  of  five  lire.  Peeping  into  the  future  at 
a  dollar  a  peep  seems  cheap.  Then  there  is  a 
noble  family  who  are  willing  to  let  a  portion 
of  their  noble  apartment  in  the  noble  Via  Mon- 
tegiordano  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  lire  a  month. 
"  An  advocate,  twenty-five  years  of  age,  earning 
four  hundred  lire  a  month,  wishes  to  marry  an 
honest  and  good  girl  with  a  dowry."  This 
ingenuous  attorney  signs  himself  "  Simplex,"  and 
gives  his  address.  The  maiden  with  a  dowry 
who  could  be  wooed  through  a  large  poster  on  a 
dead-wall  would  be  almost  as  simple  as  Simplex 
himself  An  advertisement  of  a  similar  nature  is 
that  of  a  "gentleman  thirty- nine  years  of  age, 
noble,  unmarried,  sympathetic,  rich,  affectionate, 

o  209 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

desires  a  companion,  affectionate,  serious,  and  rich. 
Useless  to  write  without  these  requisites.  The 
utmost  secrecy  and  reserve.  Write  to  Arturo 
Fiorelli,  general  delivery,  Rome."  Fiorelli  means 
"  little  flower."  Arturo  is  aptly  named.  Arturo 
is  a  daisy. 


A  fruitless  search  for  a  certain  photographer  in 
the  Roman  directory  was  my  first  introduction  to 
that  remarkable  publication.  In  Rome  it  is  called 
the  "Indicatori."  If  it  indicates  anything  it  is 
hard  to  tell  what,  for  even  the  natives  seem  un- 
able to  cope  with  the  intricacies  of  the  " Indica- 
tor i."  After  failing  to  find  the  desired  place 
myself,  I  tried  several  of  them,  and  they  all  were 
forced  to  give  it  up.  As  a  directory  is  supposed 
to  direct,  this  all-round  failure  so  excited  my  curi- 
osity that  I  gave  the  volume  a  cursory  inspection. 

It  is  not  arranged  like  the  plain,  plebeian  city 
directories  of  our  untitled  republic.  It  begins 
with  the  Roman  "conscritti" — the  modern  ana- 
logues of  the  ancient  conscript  fathers  —  the 
princely  families  of  modern  Rome,  the  Colon- 
nas,  the  Dorias,  the  Borgheses.  But  they  fill 
only  a  short  half-page.  Next  come  the  "  Roman 
patricians,"  which  means  apparently  titled  persons 

2IO 


I 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

not  princes,  for  most  of  this  batch  are  dukes, 
counts,  and  barons.  This  fills  two  and  a  half 
pages.  It  is  followed  by  "noble  families  residing 
in  Rome,"  which  does  not  mean  foreign  noble- 
men, but  the  Sicilian,  Sardinian,  Piedmontese,  and 
Venetian  nobility.  Apparently  the  old  Roman 
contempt  for  non- Roman  Italians  still  exists. 
This  category- fills  two  and  a  half  pages.  After 
this  come  "leading  families  residing  in  Rome." 
Most  of  the  gentlemen  in  this  Hst  bear  the 
honorary  title  either  of  "Cavaliere"  or  of  "Com- 
mendatore."  This  fills  three  pages.  Next  come 
"professionals,"  in  which  are  included  lawyers, 
physicians,  architects,  etc.,  filling  forty  pages. 
And  last  of  all  comes  the  division  headed  "in- 
dustry and  commerce,"  in  which  figure  the  half- 
million  who  make  up  the  population  of  Rome — 
the  ordinary  persons  of  whom  we  in  the  United 
States  are  entirely  made  up.  There  are  seventy- 
five  millions  of  us,  and  we  have  no  princes,  patri- 
cians, or  noble  families,  and  yet  we  are  doing 
pretty  well,  thank  you  ! 


The  Roman  newspapers  are  numerous.  There 
are  eighteen  daily  journals  of  various  shades  of 
poHtics.     Among  them  are  Liberal  Republican, 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Republican,  Socialistic,  Military,  and  Conservative 
or  Royalist  organs.  There  are  also  religious  dailies 
as  well  as  distinctively  Papal  journals.  Of  these 
last  the  Osservatore  Romano  and  the  Voce  della 
Verita  are  organs  of  the  Vatican ;  both  are  edited 
by  commissions  of  priests.  There  are  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-five  weekly,  semi-weekly,  and 
monthly  publications.  This  large  number  is 
explained  by  the  existence  of  many  official  news- 
papers issued  weekly  by  the  government  bureaus. 
Among  these,  for  example,  is  the  Corriere  del 
LottOy  which  is  the  organ  of  the  bureau  devoted 
to  the  government  lotteries.  There  are  also  many 
military  journals,  daily  as  well  as  weekly,  easily 
accounted  for  when  one  remembers  that  there  are 
a  quarter  of  a  million  men  in  Italy  under  arms. 

The  papers  are  not  of  a  high  grade.  They 
are  poorly  printed  on  flimsy  paper,  and  are  feeble 
imitations  of  the  Paris  papers,  which  themselves 
are  not  worth  imitating.  About  the  best  of  them 
is  La  Tr/^««^,  which  claims  a  daily  circulation  of 
two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand.  It  has  an 
illustrated  Sunday  edition,  but  not  at  all  resem- 
bling our  Sunday  papers.  It  is  modeled  on  the 
Sunday  edition  of  the  Paris  Petit  Journal,  which 
is  a  kind  of  illustrated  Sunday  magazine.  One 
Sunday  Tribuna  contained  the  first  number  of  a 

212 


1 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

new  "grande  romanzo  di  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon," 
entitled  "Aurora  Floyd,"  as  also  a  "drammatico 
racconto  di  Edgardo  Poe,"  entitled  "The  Pit 
and  the  Pendulum."  These  titles  seemed  faintly- 
familiar. 

Apropos  of  Miss  Braddon,  another  of  her 
novels,  "Lady  Audley's  Secret,"  was  running 
serially  in  the  Carrier e  della  Sera  of  Milan.  "  Be- 
hind Closed  Doors,"  by  Anna  Katharine  Green, 
was  running  in  the  Corriere  Italiano  of  Florence, 
and  "A  Strange  Marriage,"  by  H.  Flemming, 
was  running  serially  in  the  Fieramosca  of  Florence. 

The  daily  papers  of  Rome  all  sell  for  five 
centesimi — a  cent  apiece — with  the  exception  of 
Ultaliey  which  is  printed  in  French  and  sells  for 
two  cents.  Poor  as  the  Italian  papers  are  in 
Rome,  this  French  daily  is  poorer  still.  That 
there  is  a  decidedly  provincial  tone  about  the 
Roman  dailies  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  II  Mes- 
sagero  one  day  editorially  puffed  a  candy-seller, 
and  congratulated  him  on  being  named  confec- 
tioner to  the  Pontifical  Court. 


Elsewhere  I  have  spoken  of  the  Tribuna  as 
being  the  leading  newspaper  in  Italy.  While  we 
were    in    Rome  its  editor-in-chief,  Attilio    Luz- 

213 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

zatto,  suddenly  died.  Thug  general  and  unaffected 
grief  which  his  death  caused  so  impressed  me  that 
I  made  some  little  study  of  his  career.  I  never 
had  heard  his  name  until  he  died.  And  yet  he 
was  the  director  of  the  most  influential  journal  in 
all  Italy — a  country  of  some  thirty  millions  of 
people.     How  narrow  is  newspaper  fame! 

Luzzatto  was  born  in  1850  in  Udine,  a  town 
in  the  province  of  Venezia  near  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  frontier.  He  studied  law  in  Milan, 
but  journalism  irresistibly  attracted  him.  He  left 
the  law  and  attached  himself  to  a  radical  demo- 
cratic journal,  the  Ragione,  His  vigorous  writing 
soon  attracted  attention  and  he  was  urged  to  go 
to  Rome.  There  he  became  chief  editorial  writer 
of  La  Stampay  another  radical  democratic  organ. 
Luzzatto  waged  a  vigorous  war  for  liberty  of 
speech,  liberty  of  public  meetings,  liberty  of  the 
press,  and  extension  of  the  electoral  franchise. 
This  endeared  him  to  the  masses.  In  1883  a 
group  of  liberal  democratic  leaders  decided  to 
found  an  organ  in  Rome,  which  they  called  La 
Tribuna.  They  made  Luzzatto  its  editor-in-chief, 
and  at  that  post  he  remained  until  his  death. 

One  of  the  curious  facts  developed  by  Luz- 
zatto* s  death  was  that  Prince  Sciarra  is  a  large 
owner  in  La  Tribuna,     I  knew  that  the  Roman 

214 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

princes  did  not  hesitate  to  become  silent  partners 
in  business  ventures  at  which  their  ancestors 
would  have  sneered.  Many  of  them  were  ruined 
by  the  bursting  of  Rome's  real-estate  boom  some 
years  ago.  But  for  a  prince,  the  head  of  an  an- 
cient family,  to  be  part  proprietor  of  a  newspaper 
devoted  to  spreading  the  principles  of  radical  de- 
mocracy, strikes  me  as  distinctly  amusing. 

The  death  of  Luzzatto  was  unexpected. 
Toward  the  end  of  winter  he  had  a  severe  attack 
of  the  "grippe,"  or  influenza.  He  partially  re- 
covered, but  against  the  advice  of  his  physicians 
resumed  his  work.  Not  long  after  he  died  of 
heart  paralysis.  His  sudden  death,  while  appar- 
ently in  the  full  tide  of  his  labors,  startled  the 
community. 

From  all  over  Italy  there  came  telegrams  of 
sympathy — from  cabinet  ministers,  senators,  depu- 
ties, mayors  of  cities,  journalists,  and  public  men 
generally.  The  funeral  was  a  large  and  imposing 
one.  Still  all  these  evidences  of  grief  did  not 
strike  me  as  being  other  than  the  evidence  of  an 
ephemeral  feeling.  The  Italian  has  a  dramatico- 
sympathetic  nature  and  is  easily  moved.  Death 
startles  him.  A  sudden  death  shocks  him.  He 
is  not  unwilling  that  the  world  should  see  that  he 
is  moved,  startled,  and  shocked. 

215 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  we  had  occasion  to 
travel  northward  for  a  brief  trip  out  of  Rome. 
When  we  reached  the  station,  we  found  in  the 
train  an  imposing  funeral  car.  It  contained  the 
remains  of  Luzzatto.  They  were  to  be  carried 
northward  for  burial  in  his  birthplace,  Udine. 
We  made  some  remark  about  the  love  of  funeral 
pomp  characteristic  of  the  Latin  mind,  and  dis- 
missed the  subject. 

But  it  was  soon  brought  to  our  attention.  The 
train  traveled  for  miles  over  the  lonely  Roman 
Campagna — a  vast  rolling  plain,  where  there  are 
no  towns  or  villages,  and  only  an  occasional  fever- 
haunted  farm-house,  tenanted  by  gaunt  peasants, 
yellow  with  malaria.  When  we  had  left  this  zone 
of  desolation  the  train  began  stopping  at  stations. 
Wherever  we  made  a  halt  the  sight  was  remark- 
able. The  people  for  many  miles  around  had 
collected  to  do  honor  to  the  dead  journalist. 
Artisans'  guilds,  workingmen's  leagues,  wine- 
growers* associations,  social  and  political  clubs 
were  there,  bearing  banners  draped  with  crape. 
Bands  of  music  were  in  waiting,  playing  solemn 
dirges.  In  the  villages  there  were  great  crowds 
of  peasants,  and  in  the  towns  dense  masses  of 
workingmen.  In  places  like  Monte  Varchi  and 
Arezzo   there  were  crowds  of  several   thousand 

216 


S.   p.   Q.  R. 

people.  The  station  inclosures  were  packed  with 
humanity.  At  towns  like  Laterina  and  San  Gio- 
vanni Valdarno  the  crowds  were  extraordinary, 
considering  the  size  of  these  places.  Even  at  the 
smaller  stations,  where  the  train  did  not  stop, 
hundreds  of  peasants  were  drawn  up  at  the  station- 
barriers  gazing  eagerly  at  the  passing  of  Luzzatto. 
At  San  Giovanni  Valdarno  there  must  have  been 
from  four  to  five  thousand  people  waiting  at  the 
station.  I  could  not  imagine  where  they  all  came 
from  in  a  place  of  that  size,  and  cross-questioned 
the  guard.  He  replied  that  the  banners  they  bore 
showed  that  they  came  from  different  communes. 
These  included  San  Giovanni,  Terranuova,  Castel 
Franco,  Piandisco,  Cavriglia,  Loro,  Perpignano, 
Monastero,  Castel  Nuovo,  Montegonsi,  and  Cam- 
pogialli — villages  scattered  over  a  territory  miles 
in  extent. 

As  the  day  declined  and  darkness  came  on,  the 
scene  grew  picturesque.  First  the  white,  green, 
and  red  signal-lights  of  the  outlying  station  limits 
would  flash  by.  Ahead  of  us  in  the  darkness 
would  be  visible  a  great  flare.  As  the  train  drew 
up  to  the  platform  we  would  see  that  the  light 
proceeded  from  hundreds  of  torches  held  aloft  by 
men  in  the  processions  of  clubs  and  guilds.  The 
yellow  glare  of  the  torches  dimly  outlined  the  tall 

217 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

banners  with  their  long  streamers  of  crape.  Out 
of  the  darkness  would  come  the  sound  of  a  dirge 
with  muffled  drums  and  muted  horns.  For  a 
minute  or  two  the  train  would  pause  while  the 
waiting  people  placed  mourning  wreaths  in  the 
funeral  car,  and  again  it  would  dash  on  into 
the  darkness.  For  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
through  the  most  populous  portion  of  central 
Italy  this  curious  scene  was  repeated. 

Such  a  genuine  outburst  of  popular  mourning 
made  me  think  that  Luzzatto  had  a  deeper  hold 
upon  the  public  heart  than  I  had  supposed.  It 
was  not  a  purely  local  lamentation,  confined  to 
the  city  of  Rome,  where  he  had  labored  so  long. 
The  feeling  was  apparently  shared  by  the  Italians 
at  large.  It  made  me  wonder  whether  the  death 
of  any  journalist  in  the  United  States  could  cause 
such  genuine  grief.  What  editor  have  we  for 
whose  funeral  train  the  people  would  wait  for 
hours  in  darkness  and  in  rain? — for  the  heavens 
wept  ceaselessly  as  the  funeral  train  rolled  on. 

Another  thought  came  into  my  mind — that 
wide  as  was  Luzzatto's  fame  in  his  own  land,  it 
was  apparently  limited  to  that  land.  I  saw 
but  two  foreign  dispatches  concerning  his  death. 
Probably  I  speak  within  bounds  when  I  say  that 
—  excluding  Italians — few  well-informed  men  in 

218 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

the  United  States  had  ever  heard  of  him.  There 
walked  in  his  funeral  procession  two  other  Italian 
writers,  Gabriele  d'Annunzio  and  Edmondo  de 
Amicis.  Both  are  younger  men  than  Luzzatto, 
who  was  just  fifty.  Yet  the  world  knows  them 
as  writers,  while  Luzzatto  is  unknown.  Why  ? 
They  wrote  in  books.  He  wrote  in  newspapers. 
He  will  be  forgotten  within  a  year. 

In  the  Protestant  Cemetery  at  Rome  is  the 
tomb  of  Keats,  the  young  English  poet,  who  is 
said  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart.  Upon  the 
nameless  headstone  are  chiseled  the  well-known 
words  which  the  dying  poet  begged  should  be 
placed  upon  his  tomb — 

Here  Lies  One 

Whose  Name 
Was  Writ  in  Water. 

I  could  not  help  but  think  that  after  his  brief 
and  busy  life  Attilio  Luzzatto's  name  was  writ  in 


These  thumb-nail  notes  discuss  trivial  things 
perhaps,  but  preferably  unusual  things.  From 
the  well-trodden  paths  paved  with  red-bound 
guide-books  I  have  turned  aside.      I  have  always 

219 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

secretly  admired  the  courage  of  people  who  in 
this  day  and  generation  can  write  and  talk  about 
Roman  ruins.  But  I  have  no  desire  to  emulate 
them.  So  I  have  written  about  trifles — odd 
trifles.  One  might  write  many  pages  about 
oddities — about  the  many  interesting  things  in 
the  most  interesting  city  in  the  world. 

One  might  write  of  the  men  sluicing  dirt  in 
the  Forum,  just  as  they  do  in  the  placer-mines 
of  California.  But  the  California  miners  are  in 
search  of  gold,  while  the  Forum  miners  are  in 
quest  of  antiquities,  gems,  bronzes,  buckles,  seals, 
intaglios,  weapons,  bits  of  armor,  and  other  bric- 
a-brac  of  the  ancient  Romans. 

One  might  write  of  the  little  ten-year-old  boys 
in  swallow-tail  coats,  tall  hats,  and  white  chokers 
whom  you  meet  walking  in  files  of  two,  led  by 
priests. 

One  might  write  of  the  fish-wheels  revolving 
in  the  Tiber.  I  have  told  of  the  salmon-wheels 
in  the  Columbia  to  Eastern  Americans,  and  have 
had  my  "fish  story"  received  with  incredulous 
laughter.  Yet  at  Ponte  Molle  I  saw  the  Oregon 
fish-wheel  revolving  in  the  muddy  Tiber,  which 
flows  by  one  of  the  most  ancient  cities  in  the 
world. 

One  might  write  of  the  remarkable  incongru- 
220 


The  ruined  Palaces  of  the  Ccssars.^' 


S.  p.  Q.  R. 

ities  in  Rome.  For  example,  the  Circus  Maximus 
of  Ancient  Rome  has  been  utilized  as  a  site  for 
the  gas-works  of  Modern  Rome.  A  "fornix" 
in  the  ruined  Palace  of  the  Caesars  has  been  used 
as  a  little  drinking-shop,  and  over  the  arch  you 
see  the  sign  "Birra  Gazzosa,  Due  Soldi."  Says 
the  poet :  "  Imperial  Caesar,  dead,  and  turned  to 
clay,  might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away." 
In  this  case,  for  further  indignity,  his  ruined 
palace  serves  as  a  signboard  for  "Steam  Beer, 
Two  Cents." 

One  might  write  of  the  extraordinary  medioc- 
rity of  the  pictures  in  oils,  pastels,  and  water- 
colors  that  one  sees  in  the  Roman  shops,  done 
by  modern  Roman  artists.  Did  I  say  artists  ? 
There  are  none.  Whistler  once  became  offended 
at  the  Society  of  British  Artists  to  which  he  be- 
longed. At  a  meeting  of  the  society  he  arose 
and  made  a  caustic  speech,  offering  his  resigna- 
tion, which  was  accepted.  He  then  suggested 
that  from  the  name  "  Society  of  the  British  Art- 
ists" the  society  should  strike  the  word  "artists," 
thus  changing  its  name  to  "Society  of  the  British," 
as  there  had  been  only  one  artist  in  it,  to-wit. 
Whistler,  and  now  he  was  gone.  There  is  a  so- 
ciety here  called  the  "Society  of  Roman  Artists." 
I    think  they  should  change  their  name  on   the 

221 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

lines  of  Whistler's  suggestion.  All  the  Roman 
artists  are  dead. 

One  might  write  of  the  artists*  models  that 
loiter  from  dawn  to  dark  on  the  Spanish  Steps. 
Dickens  when  first  in  Rome  said  that  he  was  puz- 
zled because  their  faces  looked  familiar.  It  is 
easily  explained — they  were  familiar  to  him  in 
pictures.  If  you  approach  the  Spanish  Steps  with 
a  camera,  groups  of  children  dressed  in  picturesque 
multi-colored  rags  start  up  and  begin  falling  into 
rapid  poses  like  the  crumbs  of  glass  in  a  kalei- 
doscope. 

One  might  write  of  the  functions  of  th&  royal 
carabineers  in  Rome,  and  wonder  what  they  are. 
An  irate  commander  during  our  Civil  War,  who 
did  not  believe  in  cavalry,  once  declared  that  he 
would  offer  a  reward  of  a  thousand  dollars  for  a 
dead  soldier  in  cavalry-boots.  If  the  Roman 
royal  carabineers  ever  do  anything  but  look  pretty, 
I  can  not  conceive  what  it  is.  One  evening  on 
the  Pincian  Hill,  at  six  o'clock,  when  the  park 
was  crowded  with  people  listening  to  the  music, 
a  melancholy  young  woman  standing  near  a  royal 
carabineer  flung  herself  over  the  parapet,  and  was 
dashed  to  death  on  the  stone  pavement  below. 
The  royal  carabineer  never  moved — did  not  even 
look   over.     He   called  a  civil  guard,  and  bade 

222 


3 

8 


55 


S.   p.   Q.  R. 

him  go  down  and  gather  the  girl  up.  The  royal 
carabineers  of  Rome  are  magnificent.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  tell  what  they  are  for. 

One  might  write  of  the  countless  fountains 
which  spout  and  splash  in  Rome.  From  dawn 
till  dusk  and  from  dusk  till  dawn — from  the 
great  Pauline  fountain,  with  its  torrents  of  water, 
to  the  little  trickle  of  the  little  Turtle  fountain  in 
its  little  square — night  and  day  these  living 
waters  plash  and  play.  When  a  Roman  rain- 
storm is  coming  down  in  sheets,  the  fountains 
playing  in  the  torrential  rain  seem  to  a  Californian 
like  a  wicked  waste  of  water.  He  always  wants 
to  run  and  turn  it  off. 

But  one  might  write  endlessly  of  Roman  foun- 
tains, and  one  might  write  forever  of  Rome.  So 
let  us  stop  with  the  Fountain  of  Trevi,  most 
beautiful  fountain  in  a  city  of  beautiful  fountains. 
Around  it  are  ever  grouped  loungers,  porters, 
tourists,  beggars.  To  it  clings  the  old  supersti- 
tion that  one  who  would  return  to  Rome  must, 
on  the  eve  of  his  departure,  cast  a  coin  into  the 
fountain's  basin  and  offer  up  a  wish  for  his  return. 
So  on  the  brink  of  the  basin  we  stood,  thinking 
regretfully  of  our  departure  from  the  ancient  city 
where  we  had  spent  so  many  delightful  days. 
Each  of  us  brought  a  copper  coin  bearing  the 

223 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

impress  of  our  Uncle  Samuel  rather  than  the 
features  of  King  Humbert.  Casting  the  coin 
from  our  own  dear  country  into  the  magic  waters 
—  whose  charm  is  said  to  lure  travelers  back  to 
this  other  country  which  men  from  all  lands  seem 
to  love — we  made  our  invocation,  sighed  our  re- 
grets, and  bade  farewell  to  Rome. 


224 


FLORENTINE    DILETTANTES 

THE  first  thing  that  we  saw  in  the  city  of  Sa- 
vonarola and  Buonarotti  was  an  automobile 
parade.  The  automobile  pursues  one  around 
Europe.  It  is  the  Time  Ghost  of  to-day.  It  ap- 
pears suddenly  in  ancient  nooks  and  corners,  and 
reminds  you  that  this  is  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  And  then,  after  scaring  you,  the  Time 
Ghost  rattles  away,  leaving  behind  it  a  smell 
which  suggests  ghosts,  demons,  and  sulphur. 
But  it  is  only  the  smell  of  benzine. 

This  Florentine  parade  followed  the  inaugura- 
tion of  the  first  automobile  club  in  Tuscany.  It 
took  place  in  the  Barbetti  Rotunda  near  the  Cas- 
cine.  Around  the  circle  twenty-one  automobiles 
were  ranged.  They  were  examined  by  the  Count 
of  Turin,  who  represents  the  royal  family  in 
Florence.  The  Florentines  must  have  something 
for  their  tax-money,  so  they  get  a  royal  prince. 
The  count  was  good  enough  to  express  his 
princely  admiration  for  the  machines,  of  which 

p  225 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

there  was  quite  a  showing.  The  fastest  was 
a  six-horse-power  Stanley,  belonging  to  Prince 
Strozzi. 

We  were  neighbors  of  the  prince,  by  the  way. 
He  lived  across  the  street  from  us.  Carping  peo- 
ple might  say  that  we  lived  across  the  street  from 
him,  for  there  is  a  Strozzi  Palace,  a  Strozzi  Street, 
and  a  Strozzi  Square,  while  our  hotel  is  on  the 
corner  of  Strozzi  Square  and  Strozzi  Street.  But 
none  the  less  we  have  a  right  to  say  that  he  lived 
across  the  street  from  us.  His  habitation  is  finer 
than  ours,  for  the  Strozzi  Palace  is  one  of  the  sights 
of  Florence.  But  it  is  unfinished.  The  prince's 
family  have  lived  there  for  generations.  Two  or 
three  hundred  years  ago  the  family  decided  to  put 
an  ornamental  cornice  on  the  palace,  and  got 
halfway  around,  when  they  became  "broke"  and 
stopped.  The  cornice  has  remained  unfinished 
ever  since.  If  Prince  Strozzi  had  a  due  regard 
for  his  ancestors,  he  would  finish  his  uncompleted 
palace.  But  apparently  he  prefers  to  live  in  an 
unfinished  house  and  spend  his  money  on  auto- 
mobiles. He  had  four  machines  at  this  opening 
of  the  Florence  Automobile  Club. 

After  the  exposition  proper,  the  members 
"conducted"  their  machines  from  the  Rotunda 
out   to    Florence's    beautiful   park,   the   Cascine. 

226 


^^ Florence' s  park^  the  Casciiie. 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

Numbers  of  handsomely  gowned  women  were 
seated  on  the  automobiles,  and  one  of  them  was 
driven  by  a  lady.  I  inquired  her  name,  and  was 
told  that  she  was  "  the  Signorina  Smith."  The 
other  ladies  were  all  marchesas,  duchessas,  and 
contessas,  but  only  Signorina  Smith  was  daring 
enough  to  conduct  a  machine.  The  name  sounds 
un-Italian.  I  think  the  Signorina  Smith  must  be 
American.  The  club  wound  up  by  a  "grand  five- 
o'clock  tea  at  four  o'clock,"  at  the  Cascine.  The 
Italians  seem  to  think  that  ^^five  o'clock"  is  a 
kind  of  beverage,  instead  of  a  time  of  day.  You 
see  signs  on  the  Italian-English  tea-roonis,  "five- 
o'clock  tea  served  at  all  hours."  And  the  French 
even  make  a  verb  of  it — fiveocloquer,  "On  five- 
ocloquera  a  quatre  heures." 

The  scene  was  an  animated  one.  We  were 
seated  at  one  of  the  tables  under  the  trees  on  the 
terrace  of  the  Cascine  Cafe.  A  fine  military  band 
was  playing  near  at  hand.  Many  of  the  auto- 
mobile club  were  still  speeding  their  machines 
around  the  circles  and  driveways,  giving  exhibi- 
tions of  their  skill  in  turning  corners  and  running 
into  trees.  On  the  other  side  of  the  round-point 
on  which  stands  the  cafe^  the  afternoon  carriage 
parade  of  Florence  was  going  on.  Handsomely 
appointed  victorias,  broughams,  breaks,  dog-carts, 

227 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

and  phaetons  rolled  past,  drawn  by  well-groomed 
horses,  with  coachmen,  footmen,  and  grooms  in 
immaculate  liveries.  Not  a  few  horsemen  were 
to  be  seen,  among  them  numbers  of  uniformed 
army  officers.  On  the  other  side  of  this  drive- 
way were  four  lawn-tennis  courts,  with  matches  in 
progress  on  all  of  them,  followed  by  groups  of 
interested  spectators.  Beyond  these  courts  again, 
the  Italian  game  of  "Pallone"  was  being  played 
with  great  vigor.  The  elliptical  course  of  a 
race-track  lay  alongside  the  park  barrier,  where 
running  races  were  in  progress  on  this  same 
day.  Just  outside  the  Cascine  are  the  grounds 
of  the  beautiful  Villa  Demidoif,  on  which  there 
is  a  golf-links.  And  all  these  sports  were  going 
on  at  the  same  time  on  a  beautiful  spring  day. 
Of  a  truth,  the  Florentines  do  not  lack  for 
amusements. 

Parenthetically,  let  me  say  that  the  Florence 
Golf  Club  was  extremely  hospitable  to  us  wan- 
derers from  a  far-off  Western  land,  and  sent  us 
visitors*  cards  for  their  links  and  club-house.  We 
were  not  slow  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  privilege. 
The  links  are  laid  out  adjacent  to  a  speed-track 
at  the  Villa  Demidoff.  There  are  racing-stables 
there,  and  men  in  trotting-sulkies  were  contin- 
ually exercising  horses.     Your  vagrant  golf-ball 

228 


*^The  little  Italian  golf-caddies'' 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

would  take  you  near  a  group  of  jockeys,  horse- 
trainers,  and  hostlers,  gathered  round  a  couple 
of  trotting-sulkies  and  talking  to  the  drivers. 
Unconsciously  you  would  expect  to  hear  them 
calling  one  another  Jim  or  Pete,  and  talking  Eng- 
lish race-track  slang.  But  no.  They  are  Sandros 
and  Titos,  and  their  race-track  lingo  is  lingua 
Toscana, 

So,  too,  with  the  caddies.  To  play  golf  over 
a  links  where  the  caddies  speak  no  English  is  in 
itself  an  odd  sensation.  But  to  have  a  golf-caddy 
talking  to  you  in  Italian  is  even  more  odd. 
Otherwise,  the  little  Italian  caddies  seem  very 
much  hke  other  caddies  otherwhere.  They  are 
just  as  featherheaded,  just  as  prone  to  give  you 
the  wrong  club,  just  as  apt  to  forget  the  flag,  just 
as  apt  to  say  they  are  "tired"  when  you  want  to 
go  around  again.  It  will  interest  golf-players 
to  know  that  for  "  once  round  "  they  receive  four 
cents.  Late  in  the  afternoons  little  girls  would 
straggle  across  the  golf-links,  stopping  to  stare  at 
the  queer  giuoco  Inglese,  or  English  game.  They 
were  freckled  little  girls,  carrying  little  lunch- 
baskets  and  bundles  of  school-books  in  straps — 
they  are  just  like  little  school-girls  in  other  lands 
and  chmes  until  you  speak  to  them.  Then  their 
speech  bewrayeth  them. 

229 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

By  the  way,  it  would  do  a  money-grubber  good 
to  come  in  contact  with  golf-caddies.  They  are 
rarities  in  this  commercial  age,  for  they  know 
when  they  have  enough.  A  barefooted  boy  with 
ragged  galligaskins  upheld  by  one  suspender,  his 
hair  sticking  through  a  hole  in  his  hat,  worth  as 
he  stands  perhaps  a  dollar  and  a  half,  will  refuse 
a  tenth  of  his  estimated  value  for  an  additional 
hour's  work.  He  has  fifteen  cents  in  his  pocket, 
he  is  tired  or  hungry,  and  he  "won't  go  round 
no  more."  I  respect  the  independent  golf-caddy. 
I  respect  and  admire  him.  And  I  always  hire 
the  other  kind. 

After  the  "inauguration"  of  the  automobile 
club,  the  automobiles  dashed  through  the  streets 
of  Florence  at  a  high  rate  of  speed,  and  there  were 
many  accidents.  In  fact,  there  were  accidents 
every  day.  It  is  rather  remarkable  that  on  the 
Continent  the  authorities  allow  such  freedom  to 
automobilists.  In  Europe  nearly  everything  is 
forbidden.  It  is  forbidden  to  walk  on  the  grass. 
It  is  forbidden  to  cross  the  railway  lines.  It  is 
forbidden,  almost,  to  cross  the  street.  Therefore, 
that  the  automobilists  should  not  be  forbidden  to 
drive  their  machines  at  such  breakneck  speed  is 
remarkable.  Horse-vehicles  are  prohibited  from 
exceeding  a  certain  speed.     Horned  cattle  are  not 

230 


"  The  Palazzo  Vecchio,  on  the  Square  oj  the  Signoria.' 


FLORENTINE   DILET 


allowed  on  the  streets  of  most  large  cities,  owing 
to  solicitude  for  the  foot-passengers.  I  have 
seen  loads  of  live  steers  transported  across  Vienna 
in  vans  drawn  by  horses.  But  the  scorching 
automobilists  are  more  dangerous  than  horned 
cattle. 

On  the  day  that  the  automobile  club  was  inau- 
gurated in  Florence  a  circular  space  in  the  Piazza 
della  Signoria  was  covered  with  mounds  of  flow- 
ers. At  first  we  thought  it  was  a  flower-market, 
but  on  inquiry  we  found  it  was  in  memory  of  Sa- 
vonarola, who  was  burned  to  death  on  this  spot 
over  four  hundred  years  ago.  A  Florentine  fam- 
ily has  for  centuries  kept  up  the  custom  of  thus 
honoring  his  memory.  And  around  the  great 
square  of  the  Signoria,  where  he  was  burned, 
circa   1500,  sweeps  the  automobile  of   1900. 


Florence  is  the  favorite  haunt  of  the  faddist. 
And  the  art  faddist  is  the  most  freakish  of  them 
all.  There  are  art  amateurs  there — the  genuine 
and  the  sham.  And  many  of  those  who  talk 
most  glibly  about  the  Cinquecento  and  that  sort 
of  thing  strike  me  as  being  sham. 

As  for  the  Cinquecento,  no  one  can  deny  the 
leadership  of  the  Florentines  in  the  Renaissance 

231 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

movement.  Among  the  Florentine  artists  of  that 
epoch  are  some  of  the  greatest  names  in  Italy. 
But  they  do  not  leaven  the  whole  lump.  There 
were  inferior  men  among  them,  and  many  medi- 
ocrities. But  the  faddists  will  not  admit  that. 
They  insist  that  the  whole  Cinquecento  is  flawless  ; 
that  every  stone-cutter  was  a  Michael  Angelo  and 
every  dauber  a  Raphael.  This  fifteenth-century 
faddishness  strikes  me  as  being  nineteenth-century 
nonsense. 

My  sense  of  humor  is  often  aroused  by  hearing 
long  disquisitions  on  art  from  ingenuous  maidens 
who  have  spent  a  fortnight  in  Florence.  After 
much  |;alk  about  the  Pitti  and  UfEzi  galleries, 
they  invariably  get  around  to  Botticelli.  In  Flor- 
ence it  is  a  curious  study  to  stand  before  some 
famous  Botticelli  and  note  the  crowd  of  adoring 
Uffizi-gallery,  greenery-yallery  maidens  clustered 
at  the  master's  shrine.  They  are  limp  and  they 
cling.  They  sigh  ecstatically.  They  exchange 
humid  glances  from  tear-wet  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  hastily  look  back  at  the  magic  canvas.  If 
one  can  secure  an  iconoclastic  artist  with  whom  to 
shock  such  a  circle,  it  is  a  keen  delight  to  pitch 
into  Botticelli.  And  how  amusing  to  note  the 
expressions  on  the  fac^s  around !  First  of  con- 
tempt, as  implying:    "These  men  are  Yahoos." 

232 


VlN'I 


Fra  Lippo  LippVs   Virgin  and  Childy 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

Then  of  disgust,  as  meaning:  "They  are  only- 
barbarians."  Then  of  pain,  as  concluding  :  "They 
are  heretics."  And  finally  of  horror  and  of 
fear,  as  who  should  say :  "  They  talk  the  talky- 
talky  of  the  inner  circle  !  They  have  been  of  the 
soul  -  soulful !  They  were  once  Botticellians  ! 
They  must  be  backsliders!"  And  they  turn 
and  flee. 

The  art  patter,  the  studio  slang,  the  faddist's 
jargon  are  easily  picked  up.  An  adroit  use  of  it 
will  impress  the  listener  with  the  belief  that  the 
speaker  knows  what  he  is  talking  about.  But 
what  matters  it  whether  he  does  or  not  ?  The 
faddists  have  a  right  to  their  opinion.  I  have  a 
right  to  mine.  I  dislike  the  work  of  Botticelli, 
Fra  Angelico,  Fra  Lippo  Lippi,  and  their  imita- 
tors. The  Florentine  faddists  like  it.  Why,  I 
do  not  know.  But  I  know  quite  well  why  I 
do  not  like  it.  It  strikes  me  as  being  false,  flat, 
untrue  to  nature,  and  ridiculous.  There  is  a 
famous  picture  by  Fra  Lippo  Lippi  representing 
the  Virgin  and  Child.  It  is  an  interior,  in  which 
there  are  a  number  of  other  figures.  The  per- 
spective is  so  crude  that  a  woman  in  the  back- 
ground looks  as  if  she  were  stepping  on  the  Virgin's 
shoulder.  The  figures  in  the  foreground,  middle 
distance,  and  background  have  so   absurd  a  per- 

233 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

spective  that  they  look  Hke  paper  dolls  of  differ- 
ent sizes,  cut  out  with  scissors  and  gummed  upon 
a  background.  The  drawing  is  so  extraordinary 
that  it  suggests  a  Chinese  screen.  As  for  the 
chief  figures,  the  Madonna  is  grotesque  and  the 
infant  Jesus  preposterous.  He  has  the  face  of  a 
fat  and  flabby  middle-aged  man ;  the  right  hand 
is  near  the  nose,  with  the  fingers  crooked  in  the 
gesture  of  benediction ;  he  inevitably  suggests 
an  elderly  person  taking  snuff.  The  picture,  as 
a  whole,  always  reminds  me  of  Hogarth*s  cartoon 
of  false  perspective. 

Another  side-splitting  picture  which  the  Botti- 
celhans  love  is  "Calumny."  This  also  is  an 
interior.  The  two  leading  figures,  a  lady  and 
gentleman  with  nothing  on,  are  before  a  seated 
Rhadamanthus.  Into  the  judge's  ears  busy 
tongues  pour  calumnies.  Between  the  erect  figure 
of  the  naked  lady  and  the  recumbent  figure  of 
the  naked  gentleman  —  who  occupies  a  most 
ungraceful  semi-seated  posture  on  the  floor,  hair- 
hauled  to  the  judge's  feet — there  stands  a  figure 
like  the  Witch  of  Endor.  The  naked  lady  is 
shaped  like  the  letter  S.  It  is  difficult  to  gaze 
upon  this  extraordinary  composition  without  roar- 
ing with  laughter.  Its  perspective,  like  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi's,  is  childish,  is  Chinese,  is  aboriginal. 

234 


I 


I 


I  3  « 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

I  am  aware  that  the  retort  of  the  Botticelli 
faddist  would  be  something  like  this:  That  in 
Botticelli's  day  painting  followed  the  rules  of 
basso-relievo;  that,  therefore,  perspective  did  not 
count;  that  he  was  a  great  colorist;  and  that  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  talking  about. 

To  which  I  would  reply  that  a  painter  who 
could  not  paint  perspective  ought,  instead  of 
painting  pictures,  to  have  painted  signs;  that  as 
for  basso-relievo,  Lorenzo  Ghiberti  wrought  with 
a  chisel  in  bronze,  and  in  that  stubborn  metal 
accomplished  distance-effects,  depth,  and  almost 
an  atmospheric  perspective  which  would  put 
Botticelli  to  shame.  The  painter's  apologists 
plead  for  his  flatness  the  rules  of  another  art. 
But  a  master  of  that  art  accomplished  with  his 
chisel  what  Botticelli  failed  to  accomplish  with 
his  brush. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  Botticelli  faddists  have 
as  much  right  to  their  belief  as  I  to  mine.  Granted. 
I  do  not  quarrel  with  them  because  they  think 
him  great,  but  they  quarrel  with  me  because  I 
think  him  funny. 

In  the  Louvre  there  is  a  famous  nameless  Bot- 
ticelli. It  is  a  picture  of  a  long,  lank  lady  in  a 
reclining  posture.  She  might  be  called  "  the  tele- 
scopic lady,"  because  she  looks  as  if  her  lower 

235 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

limbs  had  been  elongated  by  the  cherub  at  her 
feet. 

I  respect  honest  convictions,  but  I  very  much 
doubt  at  times  the  sincerity  of  the  Botticellians. 
Many  of  them  are  young  women  with  half-formed 
ideas,  and  most  of  their  ideas  seem  to  me  to  be 
second-hand.  Their  ideas  are  other  people's 
ideas.  They  think  other  people's  thoughts. 
They  admire  to  order.  They  read  Ruskin  and 
rave  Ruskinese.  From  my  attempts  to  read 
Ruskin  I  always  believed  that  his  mind  was 
affected.  My  belief  was  verified  when,  some 
years  ago,  he  went  crazy  and  remained  so  till  his 
death. 

The  crude  realism  of  artists  of  this  school 
seems  to  me  almost  like  Indian  picture-writing. 
In  the  monastery  of  San  Marco  in  Florence  there 
are  a  number  of  wall-pictures  by  Fra  Angelico. 
In  one  cell  there  is  a  picture  of  the  scene  in  the 
stable  in  Bethlehem.  The  Virgin  and  two  saints 
are  kneeling  in  an  adoring  attitude,  gazing  at  the 
infant  Jesus  lying  on  the  ground.  The  figures 
are  all  ridiculous,  and  that  of  the  infant  Jesus  is 
the  most  ridiculous  of  all.  But  as  if  to  give  the 
finishing  touch  to  this  study  of  the  religio- 
ludicrous,  the  heads  of  an  intelligent  ox  and  of 
an  intelligent  ass  are  protruded  from  a  box-stall 

236 


a 
i 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

at  the  back  of  the  stable.  Fra  AngeHco  was 
doubtless  a  pious  and  ladylike  monk,  but  he  was 
no  Bonheur.  His  study  of  animals'  heads  must 
make  animal-painters  mourn. 

How  gross  and  earthy  is  this  monkish  mediae- 
val art!  It  is  so  crude  that  it  is  within  the  scope 
of  the  most  humble  wielders  of  the  brush.  I 
once  saw  on  the  ceiling  of  a  California  Mission 
chapel  a  picture  of  the  scene  from  Revelation, 
where  God  upon  his  great  white  throne  is  sur- 
rounded by  four-and-twenty  elders  crying  "Holy, 
Holy,  Holy,"  night  and  day.  Some  unskilled 
monk  with  his  crude  pigments  had  painted  the 
picture  for  the  simple  Indian  neophytes  of  Span- 
ish California.  So  naive  was  its  realism  that,  in 
addition  to  depicting  the  Creator  as  an  elderly 
man  with  a  long  white  beard,  the  artist  had 
painted  scrolls  issuing  from  the  mouths  of  the 
four-and-twenty  elders  on  which  was  the  legend 
"Santo,  Santo,  Santo."  The  effect  of  the  mediae- 
val realism  of  Beato  Angelico  and  his  school  upon 
our  Florentine  faddists  of  to-day  is  very  much 
like  the  effect  produced  by  the  monkish  Mission 
artist  on  the  minds  of  the  simple  aborigines  dwell- 
ing on  California's  hills. 

If  any  Florentine  faddist  should  fall  foul  of 
me  for  these  remarks  and  accuse  me  of  ignorance 

237 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

of  the  **  canons  of  art  criticism,"  I  will  admit  it. 
I  will  go  further,  and  will  admit  that  I  am  igno- 
rant that  there  are  any  "  canons  of  art  criticism." 
There  may  be  canons  of  art — there  are  no  "can- 
ons of  art  criticism."  This  fact  is  proved  every 
day.  That  Ruskin  for  a  third  of  a  century  poured 
forth  a  stream  of  art-gabble ;  that  he  was  believed 
by  the  faddists  to  be  an  art  prophet ;  that  he  was 
regarded  as  one  inspired;  and  that,  finally,  it  was 
discovered  that  the  man  was  moon-blind  and  mad, 
and  probably  had  been  mad  for  many  decades  of 
moons — is  not  this  a  biting  commentary  on  the 
value  of  "art  criticism"? 

What  is  "  art  criticism"?  What  are  its  canons  ? 
It  changes  with  the  advent  of  a  new  sovereign, 
and  it  varies  with  the  passing  of  a  Pope.  A 
Borghese  Pope  would  drive  out  the  art-followers 
of  a  Medicean  Pope  as  Christ  drove  out  the 
money-changers  from  the  temple.  "Art  criti- 
cism" changes  like  the  fashions  of  skirts  and 
bonnets,  coats  and  trousers.  A  century  ago  Ber- 
nini was  considered  great.  Now  he  is  called 
rococo.  Even  Michael  Angelo's  fame  seems  in 
this  our  day  to  be  dimmed,  for  sculptors  claim 
that  the  head  of  his  famous  Moses  is  entirely  out 
of  proportion  to  torso  and  limbs.  They  also  say 
that  in  his  still  more  famous  "Pieta,"  the  dead 

238 


"•  G/iiberiVs  britize  doors,  in  the  Baptistry,  Florence.'" 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

Christ  is  a  pigmy  and  the  mother  is  a  giantess. 
Furthermore,  they  prove  these  charges  by  rule 
and  Hne. 

So  absurd  are  the  so-called  "  canons  of  art  crit- 
icism" that  scarcely  a  year  passes  without  a  change 
in  the  labels  on  the  pictures  in  the  European  art 
galleries.  One  year  a  picture  will  be  labeled 
"painted  by  Raphael."  Newspaper  art  critics 
attack  its  pedigree.  The  gallery  art  critics  defend 
it.  But  they  yield,  and  the  label  is  changed  to 
"school  of  Raphael."  After  another  year  it  be- 
comes "manner  of  Raphael."  In  the  fourth  or 
fifth  years  Raphael's  name  disappears,  and  that 
of  some  obscure  contemporary  artist  is  substituted. 

If  gross  blunders  are  perpetrated  by  profes- 
sional art  critics  and  curators  of  galleries,  what 
shall  the  layman  do  ?  If  he  will  take  my  advice, 
he  will  do  what  he  pleases  and  admire  that  which 
pleases  him.  There  is  no  "canon  of  art  criti- 
cism "  which  will  make  me  admire  things  to  order 
or  affect  to  admire  that  which  in  reality  leaves  me 
unmoved.  I  have  a  great  contempt  for  sham, 
and  for  the  sham  art  amateur  most  of  all.  The 
kind  of  creature  who  professes  to  admire  im- 
mensely a  picture  by  Raphael ;  who  modifies  his 
or  her  judgment  when  told  that  it  is  by  one  of 
Raphael's  pupils ;  who  turns  in  indifference  from 

239 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  picture  when  told  later  that  it  is  a  "forgery  " — 
what  kind  of  a  thinking  creature  is  that  ?  If  the 
picture  was  a  beautiful  one  before  the  discovery, 
why  is  it  not  a  beautiful  one  after  the  discovery  ? 

Some  years  ago  a  Swiss-Italian  art  critic,  one 
Morelli,  wrote  a  series  of  letters  in  German 
reviews  over  the  signature  "Ivan  Lerminoff," 
attacking  the  "authenticity''  of  famous  pictures 
in  the  Italian  galleries.  The  letters  caused  a  sen- 
sation. Morelli's  identity  was  at  last  revealed, 
and  he  was  bitterly  assailed.  But  his  attacks 
resulted  in  a  great  changing  of  labels.  For  ex- 
ample, there  is  in  the  Doria  gallery  in  Rome  a 
beautiful  portrait  of  Queen  Joan  of  Aragon.  It 
was  believed  to  be  a  copy  of  Raphael's  portrait 
made  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  But  the  attacks  on 
its  pedigree  showed  that  it  was  not  by  Da  Vinci, 
but  by  an  obscure  Dutch  artist.  A  few  years  ago 
you  would  find  crowds  ever  around  the  portrait 
of  Queen  Joan.  Now  there  is  none  so  poor  to 
do  it  reverence.  Why?  Is  it  any  the  less  a  fine 
picture  than  it  was  before  Morelli  wrote? 

These  candid  remarks  are  not  to  be  under- 
stood as  meaning  that  I  do  not  admire  "old 
masters,"  for  I  do — some  of  them,  that  is.  But 
I  refuse  to  aflfect  to  admire  old  masters  or  any 
other  masters  unless  I  genuinely  feel  an  admira- 

240 


'*  A  portrait  of  Queen  Joan. 


FLORENTINE   DILETTANTES 

tion  for  their  work.  I  am  not  particularly  fond 
of  holy  families.  But  I  can  not  gaze  upon 
Raphael's  or  Murillo's  Madonnas  without  being 
impressed  by  their  womanly  dignity,  their  purity, 
their  super-humanism;  and  I  am  always  moved 
by  the  gigantic  genius  of  Michael  Angelo. 


241 


THE    GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

FROM  Florence  to  Bologna  the  railway  runs 
over  magnificent  mountains.  The  Apennine 
range  is  inferior  to  the  Alps  in  grandeur,  but  its 
mountain  passes  are  bold  and  beautiful.  To  show 
how  abrupt  the  climb,  there  are  forty-seven  tun- 
nels on  the  railway  within  the  space  of  a  hundred 
miles.  After  climbing  zigzag  grades  and  wind- 
ing through  curved  tunnels,  the  train  suddenly 
emerges  upon  the  crest  of  a  ridge,  and  you  see 
far  below  you  a  luxuriant  valley  and  in  its  centre 
a  large  and  handsome  town.  You  think  you 
have  reached  the  summit.  But  no.  You  are 
looking  back  upon  the  valley  from  which  you 
have  climbed,  and  the  city  you  see  is  Prato, 
through  which  you  passed  many  miles  behind. 
You  have  yet  much  climbing  to  do  before  you 
cross  the  lofty  mountains  between  the  valley  of 
the  Arno  and  the  valley  of  the  Po. 

From    Bologna   to    Milan    the    railway   runs 
through  the  heart  of  Italy.     The  rich  Lombardy 

242 


THE   GARDEN   OF   LOMBARDY 

district  is  traversed,  and  the  trains  pass  through 
many  large  and  thriving  towns.  In  all  of  them 
there  was  much  excitement  over  the  election,  and 
the  walls  were  covered  with  election  placards.  The 
newspapers  contained  nothing  but  "campaign 
news,"  and  our  fellow-passengers  talked  excitedly 
over  the  chances  of  the  various  candidates.  In 
Milan  the  campaign  was  at  white  heat.  A  great 
mass-meeting  was  held  at  the  Arena.  It  was 
interesting  to  see  how  much  political  meetings 
and  political  methods  in  Italy  resemble  those  of 
our  own  country.  The  immense  building  was 
crowded,  while  outside  there  was  a  large  gather- 
ing, addressed  by  speakers  in  the  open  air — 
exactly  like  our  own  "overflow  meetings."  The 
first  speaker  was  Signore  Di  Christoforis,  a  Mi- 
lanese deputy,  who  was  up  for  reelection.  The 
Hon.  Di  Christoforis,  when  he  arose,  was  received 
with  tumultuous  applause.  His  speech  was  a  fiery 
one,  and  this  —  translated  from  //  Secolo — was  his 
peroration : 

"The  people  of  Milan  have  reaffirmed  in  this  magnif- 
icent explosion  of  enthusiasm  their  sincere  love  of  liberty. 
This  is  not  a  political  meeting.  It  is  the  personification 
of  the  popular  party.  The  candidates  of  the  popular 
party  speak  to-day,  not  to  this  meeting  alone,  but  to  all 
Italy.    Friends  and  fellow-citizens,  this  moment  is  grave. 

243 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

It  is  solemn.  The  question  at  issue  is  liberty  or  slavery. 
The  people  must  show  by  their  votes  that  the  govern- 
ment must  be  forced  to  respect  the  liberty  conquered 
upon  the  battle-field.  Oh,  my  fellow-countrymen, 
choose  between  liberty  and  slavery !  " 

This  sounds  very  much  like  the  Democratic 
campaign  speeches  delivered  from  the  American 
stump  during  the  attempted  passage  of  the  so- 
called  Force  Bill  a  few  years  ago. 

At  the  little  village  of  Rogoredo  there  was  a 
flaming  poster,  evidently  from  the  anti-radicals, 
running  in  this  wise  : 

"  Citizens  of  Rogoredo !  Let  us  stop  and  think. 
Are  we  not  brothers  ?  Why  should  we  hurl  epithets 
at  each  other's  heads  ?  Why  should  we  foster  these 
internecine  quarrels?  Are  we  not  sons  of  the  same 
mother,  Rogoredo? 

"  Let  the  priest  remain  undisturbed  in  his  parish.  Let 
the  bishop  remain  unassailed  in  his  diocese.  Let  the 
cabinet  minister  remain  unassaulted  at  his  desk. 

"Let  us  maintain  things  as  they  are,  and  above  all  let 
us  stand  together  for  the  upbuilding  of  our  grand  and 
beautiful  city,  Rogoredo." 

Rogoredo,  which  is  a  suburb  of  Milan,  has 
about  a  thousand  inhabitants. 

Milan  is  the  most  prosperous  city  in  Italy. 
The  difference   between   northern  and   southern 

244 


THE   GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

Italy  is  marked.  There  is  much  Helvetian, 
Slavic,  and  Teutonic  blood  in  Lombardy.  Were 
not  the  Longobardi,  who  invaded  this  valley  from 
the  north,  a  Teutonic  tribe  ?  The  Milanese  are 
a  more  serious  and  thrifty  people  than  the  pleasure- 
loving  Romans  or  the  volatile  Neapolitans.  Their 
shops  are  far  superior  to  those  of  other  Itahan 
cities.  Mila-n  is  a  great  manufacturing  centre, 
and  largely  supplies  the  rest  of  Italy  with  goods 
of  various  kinds.  Even  Rome,  a  city  of  nearly 
half  a  million  people,  rehes  upon  Milan  for  such 
things  as  haberdashery,  which  seems  absurd.  If 
you  order  shirts  in  Rome,  and  press  the  trades- 
man hard,  he  will  admit  that  he  must  have  them 
made  in  Milan.  The  magnificent  galleria^  which 
runs  from  the  Cathedral  Square  to  the  square  of 
La  Scala,  is  lined  with  fine  shops  filled  with  choice 
goods,  such  as  gems  and  jewels,  silks,  silverware, 
bronzes,  statuary  in  bisque,  terra  cotta,  and  marble, 
fine  leather  goods,  gloves,  fans,  and  articles  of  lux- 
ury of  every  description.  In  the  southern  Italian 
cities  the  shops  in  the  gallerias  are  frequently 
small  and  contain  inferior  goods.  Not  so  in 
Milan.  These  gallerias  add  very  largely  to  the 
retail  business  of  European  cities,  where  at  times 
it  rains  pitilessly  for  weeks.  The  people  can  not 
walk  in  comfort  upon  the  streets.     So  they  walk 

245 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

under  the  arcades  and  in  the  gallerias^  which  are 
filled  with  inviting  cafes  and  beautiful  shops. 
People  who  have  to  go  out  into  the  rain  to  buy- 
something  will  stay  at  home  unless  the  article  is 
an  absolute  necessity.  But  when  strolling  through 
a  magnificent  galleria^  lofty,  architecturally  impos- 
ing, decorated  with  frescoes  and  statuary,  lighted 
by  day  by  a  vast  glass  dome  and  at  night  by 
myriads  of  electric  lamps,  they  are  apt  to  buy 
things  they  do  not  need  because  the  display 
attracts  the  eye. 

The  great  galleria  in  Milan  is  probably  the 
finest  in  Europe.  It  cost  eight  millions  of  lire. 
From  one  of  its  entrances  it  looks  on  the  famous 
La  Scala  opera-house.  This  and  the  San  Carlo 
in  Naples  are  enormous — two  of  the  largest 
theatres  in  the  world.  La  Scala  is  so  big  that  it  is 
an  elephant  on  the  hands  of  any  manager,  and 
therefore  it  is  closed  nearly  all  of  the  time. 

When  La  Scala  has  been  used  as  an  opera- 
house  in  recent  years  the  performances  have  been 
mediocre.  I  heard  Melba  sing  Gilda  in  "  Rigo- 
letto"  there  some  years  ago.  With  the  exception 
of  the  prima  donna^s  role^  it  was  the  worst  per- 
formance of  "Rigoletto"  I  had  ever  heard.  The 
same  year  I  heard  her  in  New  York  and  London, 
and  in  both  cities  she  was  the  centre  of  a  fine 

246 


^ 


"^ 


THE    GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

Operatic  troupe.  But  in  Milan,  in  music-loving 
Italy,  in  La  Scala,  one  of  the  historic  opera-houses 
of  the  world,  the  performance  was  beneath  con- 
tempt. In  all  the  theatres  of  Italy  to-day  I  have 
not  seen  a  single  lyric  or  dramatic  artist  whose 
name  has  ever  been  heard  of  outside  of  Italy. 
The  three  who  have  more  than  local  fame — 
Duse,  Salvini,  and  Novello — are  all  playing  in 
other  countries. 

Milan  does  not  abound  in  art  galleries,  but 
there  is  a  fine  collection  in  the  Brera  Palace. 
This  gallery  was  much  admired  by  George  Eliot, 
and  frequent  references  to  it  are  made  in  her  let- 
ters and  journal.  She  visited  Milan  more  than 
once.  Before  the  death  of  George  Henry  Lewes 
her  journal  contains  numerous  references  to  what 
"  George  "  thinks  of  Luini's  pictures  in  the  Brera 
Gallery.  After  "  George ''  died,  she  said  she  did 
not  care  to  live.  But  not  many  months  after  the 
death  of  Lewes  she  took  to  herself  a  young  hus- 
band, one  John  W.  Cross.  On  their  honeymoon 
trip  they  stopped  at  Milan  for  a  time,  and  in  her 
letters  are  references  to  what  "John  "  thinks  of  the 
Luini  pictures  in  the  Brera  Gallery.  This  is  an 
interesting  psychological  study.  As  the  French 
say,  "  One  nail  drives  out  another." 

I  call  Lewes  her  husband  because  she  called 
247 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

him  so.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  George  Henry- 
Lewes  and  Mary  Ann  Evans  were  never  mar- 
ried. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  visit  a  city  like  Milan,  even 
if  it  does  not  possess  such  art  treasures  as  Rome 
and  Florence.  Its  broad  streets,  its  fine  squares, 
its  magnificent  parks  and  public  gardens  are  a 
relief  to  the  eye  of  an  American  after  dwelling  for 
weeks  upon  the  narrow  streets  and  pinched-up 
squares  of  Rome.  And  its  great  cathedral  is  in- 
expressibly fair  to  look  upon.  Many  may  prefer 
the  purer  and  colder  Gothic  of  the  north.  But 
to  me  this  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  buildings 
in  Europe.  The  gigantic  semi  -  Byzantine  St. 
Peter's  seems  tawdry  compared  with  this  creation 
of  the  Gothic  Renaissance. 

Some  writer  once  likened  architecture  to  "frozen 
music."  The  metaphor  comes  to  my  mind  when 
I  gaze  upon  the  myriad  marble  buttresses,  pinna- 
cles, and  statues  of  the  Milan  Cathedral.  They 
suggest  chants,  invocations,  canticles,  prayers, 
soaring  up  toward  the  heavens  and  suddenly 
arrested  and  held   in   mid-air. 


As  you  travel  toward  Turin  through  the  rich 
valley  of  Lombardy,  on  your  right  to  the  north 

248 


I 


THE    GARDEN   OF   LOMBARDY 

lie  the  snowy  peaks  of  the  Swiss  Alps,  while  ahead 
of  you  to  the  westward  are  the  Maritime  Alps, 
dividing  Italy  and  France.  From  these  great 
mountain  ranges  many  streams  pour  down  upon 
the  plain,  which,  divided  and  subdivided  by  irri- 
gating canals  and  ditches,  transform  into  one  great 
garden  this  valley  of  the  Po.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  anywhere  in  the  world  a  spot  better  com- 
bining the  requisites  of  fertile  soil,  thrifty  tillers, 
non-wasteful  irrigation,  intelligent  husbandry,  and 
economic  utilization  of  the  land.  There  is  in  this 
valley  scarcely  a  square  rod  of  the  earth*s  surface 
that  is  not  cultivated.  There  is  no  waste.  On 
every  hand  you  see  fields  of  nodding  grain,  which 
in  early  summer  stands  over  four  feet  high.  The 
grain  is  sown  in  rows,  and  between  the  rows  are 
long  lines  of  mulberry  and  fruit  trees ;  rows  of 
grapevines  are  planted  parallel  with  the  fruit-trees, 
and  the  vines  are  trained  in  long  loops  from  trunk 
to  trunk  of  the  trees.  Thus  not  only  is  the  soil- 
space  utilized,  but  even  the  air-space.  Running 
at  right  angles  to  these  rows  of  trees  and  vines 
are  other  rows  of  olive-trees,  with  raspberry  and 
blackberry  bushes  in  rows  parallel  to  them.  Upon 
every  inch  of  space  in  this  criss-cross  of  trees  and 
vines  and  bushes  the  tall  grain  is  growing. 

If  our  wasteful  Western  farmers  should  plead 
249 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

that  such  husbandry  will  "exhaust  the  soil,"  the 
reply  is  that  it  has  been  tilled  in  Lombardy  for 
three  thousand  years  and  is  not  exhausted  yet. 
True,  the  soil  is  intelligently  enriched.  It  is  not 
only  not  exhausted,  but  it  is  the  most  productive 
district  in  the  world.  Several  crops  a  year  are 
garnered  from  the  rich  Lombardy  plains.  Even 
rice  is  raised  there.  I  have  seen  rice-fields  under 
tropical  suns,  tilled  by  stolid  Asiatics,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  that  white  labor  could  compete 
with  them.  In  our  Southern  States  the  raising 
of  rice  is  profitable  only  with  negro  labor.  But 
in  Lombardy  the  rice-fields  are  tilled  by  white 
men  and  women,  and  they  not  only  make  it  pay, 
but  pay  well.  Choice  Italian  rice  brings  the  high- 
est prices. 

I  believe  the  United  States  to  be  the  greatest 
country  in  the  world,  California  the  most  favored 
State  of  the  United  States,  and  the  Santa  Clara  Val- 
ley the  richest  valley  in  California.  That  valley  is, 
indeed,  an  agricultural  gem.  In  its  orchards  you 
see  apple,  pear,  peach,  plum,  prune,  cherry,  apri- 
cot, nectarine,  almond,  fig,  orange,  and  olive 
trees;  around  the  rim  of  the  valley,  where  the 
foothills  rise,  you  see  fine  vineyards  of  wine,  raisin, 
and  table  grapes;  vast  tracts  are  devoted  to  the 
raising    of  blackberries,    raspberries,   and    straw- 

250 


THE    GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

berries;  thousands  of  acres  are  utilized  for  the 
raising  of  vegetables  in  large  quantities,  such  as 
asparagus,  onions,  and  tomatoes;  great  vegetable 
seed-farms  are  also  to  be  found  there,  and  where 
other  products  are  not  raised  to  advantage  you  see 
thousands  of  acres  sown  to  hay  and  grain.  The 
soil  is  fertile,  the  climate  is  good,  the  people  are 
prosperous  ahd  thrifty.  The  farms  and  orchards 
are  well-kept  and  trim.  In  the  Santa  Clara  Val- 
ley you  frequently  see  orchards  of  fruit-trees 
bordered  with  lines  of  ornamental  palms,  and  the 
roadways  along  which  these  palm-lined  orchards 
lie  are  marvels  in  America.  In  Santa  Clara 
County  there  are  nearly  four  hundred  miles  of 
county  roads,  which  are  not  only  well-kept,  but 
which  in  summer  are  sprinkled  daily.  There  may 
be  other  rural  districts  in  the  United  States  where 
all  the  county  roads  are  sprinkled  daily,  but  I 
never  saw  or  heard  of  any. 

In  short,  the  Santa  Clara  Valley  is  agriculturally 
and  horti culturally  a  marvel.  It  is  fair  to  look 
upon,  and  its  handsome  roads  are  a  delight  to 
drive  or  ride  upon.  As  we  traveled  through  the 
Lombardy  plain  the  California  valley  rose  contin- 
ually before  my  mind's  eye.  But  I  was  forced  to 
admit  that  the  Italian  valley  has  no  peer,  even  in 
our  own  incomparable  State. 

251 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

To  this  it  may  be  said  that  Lombardy  is  much 
older.  Granted.  But  is  it  necessary  for  a  new 
community,  before  learning  anything,  to  live  as 
long  as  an  older  one?  Must  California  wait  un- 
til the  year  4900  to  be  as  wise  as  three-thousand- 
year-old  Lombardy  ?  Are  we  not  the  heirs  of  all 
the  ages?  Should  we  not  profit  by  their  stores 
of  wisdom?  Does  California  profit  by  it?  I  do 
not  think  so. 

Anglo-Saxon  California  is  half  a  century  old. 
Yet  she  has  done  little  in  that  long  period  to 
utilize  all  of  her  mountain  waters.  The  great 
productiveness  of  these  fertile  Lombardy  plains 
is  made  possible  by  the  intelligent  use  of  water. 
Irrigating  canals  and  ditches  run  in  every  direc- 
tion. They  run  under  railways.  They  run  under 
buildings.  I  even  saw  one  running,  brick-arched, 
under  a  dwelling-house.  For  ages  the  lands  in 
Lombardy  have  been  burdened  with  riparian 
easements — the  right  of  a  man  to  run  water  over 
his  neighbor's  land  to  get  it  to  his  own.  In  Cali- 
fornia we  have  not  yet  reached  the  stage  of  a  just 
and  intelligent  water  law.  In  fact,  our  law  is 
largely  the  common-law  of  England — a  law  de- 
vised centuries  ago  for  a  land  of  continual  rains 
with  no  need  of  irrigation.  Yet  this  is  the  law 
which  our  supreme  court  applied  to  a  land  where 

252 


I 


THE    GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

there  is  urgent  need  of  irrigation  and  few  and 
scanty  rains.  If  a  Lombardy  peasant  farmer  were 
told  of  this,  he  would  think  California  a  vast 
insane  asylum  and  the  CaHfornia  supreme  court 
the  Incurable  Ward. 

Lest  those  unfamiliar  with  the  subject  should 
believe  the  foregoing  to  be  unwarranted  language, 
I  will  say  briefly  that  the  California  supreme  court, 
following  the  English  common-law,  decided  that 
the  owner  of  land  bordering  a  watercourse  was 
entitled  only  to  the  usufruct  of  the  water ;  that 
if  he  used  it  he  must  return  it  to  its  original 
course  unimpaired  in  quality  and  undiminished 
in  volume.  Yet  what  it  is  principally  needed  for 
in  California  is  agriculture  and  mining,  which  must 
diminish  and  impair  it.  Therefore  our  streams 
flow  uselessly  to  the  sea.  And  this  is  the  law  of 
California ! 

I  am  aware  that  attempts  have  been  made  to 
remedy  this  grotesque  state  of  affairs.  The  Wright 
irrigation  law  is  one.  But  it  has  accomplished 
nothing  except  to  increase  water  litigation.  After 
half  a  century  of  occupancy  of  California,  an 
intelligent  Anglo-Saxon  community  in  its  unin- 
telligent use  of  the  mountain  waters  which  God 
gives  it  is  three  thousand  years  behind  the  peas- 
ants of  Lombardy. 

253 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

The  province  of  Piedmont  has  3,200,000  in- 
habitants and  contains  1 1,400  square  miles.  This 
is  about  the  area  of  Los  Angeles  and  Riverside 
Counties.  The  province  of  Lombardy  has  3,700,- 
000  inhabitants  and  contains  9,000  square  miles. 
This  is  about  the  size  of  San  Diego  County. 
The  two  provinces  together  contain  about  20,000 
square  miles — about  one-eighth  the  area  of  the 
State  of  California,  which  has  a  million  and  a  half 
of  inhabitants,  yet  this  rich  valley  supports  seven 
millions  of  people. 


As  we  traveled  over  this  great  garden  we  passed 
through  many  towns  with  famous  names — towns 
that  recall  battles,  some  of  them  the  world's  de- 
cisive battles — battles  of  Bonaparte's  first  Italian 
campaign,  when  the  young  general  swept  resist- 
lessly  through  Alta  Italia —  names  like  Lodi,  and 
Rivoli,  and  Marengo.  Other  names  suggested 
the  theatrical  campaign  of  "  the  nephew  of  his 
'  uncle,"  or  Napoleon  the  Little,  as  Victor  Hugo 
called  the  nephew  of  Napoleon  the  Great — towns 
like  Solferino  and  Magenta — some  of  which  gave 
a  name  to  a  new  color  in  the  millinery  age  of  Em- 
press Eugenie,  or  to  a  new  duke  like  Macmahon 
in  the  mushroom  peerage  of  Emperor  Napoleon, 

254 


THE   GARDEN   OF  LOMBARDY 

No  wonder  there  have  been  for  ages  many  battles 
over  this  rich  valley  of  Lombardy.  It  is  a  country 
worth  fighting  for. 

At  last  we  began  to  cHmb  the  hills  of  Piedmont, 
and  reached  the  city  of  Turin,  cradle  of  the  House 
of  Savoy. 

I  had  never  visited  Turin  before.  Probably  most 
American  travelers  pass  from  France  into  Italy  by 
way  of  Nice  and  Monte  Carlo.  I  did  not  know 
that  it  was  so  modern  and  so  handsome  a  city. 
Unlike  most  Italian  cities, its  blocks  are  rectangular 
and  its  streets  are  broad.  It  had  been  destroyed  so 
many  times  that  its  inhabitants  finally  decided  to 
build  it  straight  instead  of  crooked.  Narrow, 
dark,  and  winding  streets  like  those  of  Naples  or 
Genoa  may  be  picturesque,  but  they  certainly  are 
not  handsome.  Turin,  on  the  other  hand,  im- 
presses one,  not  by  its  picturesqueness,  but  by 
its  broad  streets,  its  spacious  squares,  its  shaded 
avenues,  and  its  magnificent  boulevards.  In  fact, 
most  of  the  streets  seem  to  be  boulevards.  They 
have  double  rows  of  lofty  trees  in  the  centre 
of  the  roadway,  through  which  runs  a  parked 
footway.  On  either  side  of  this  there  is  a  drive- 
way, and  next  to  the  houses  on  both  sides  other 
footways,  also  lined  with  rows  of  splendid  trees. 
Miles  of  arcaded  buildings  line  these  handsome 

255 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

boulevards.  I  have  heard  Frenchmen  boast  of  the 
Paris  boulevards,  and  of  the  arcades  of  the  Rue 
de  Rivoli,  which  they  call  the  "  finest  street  in  the 
world."  Nevertheless,  I  have  always  believed  that 
Vienna  has  some  boulevards  far  finer  than  any  in 
Paris.  The  "  grand  boulevards  "  of  Paris  are, 
indeed,  fine  avenues.  But  what  leagues  of  mo- 
notonous thoroughfares  they  dignify  by  that 
name — such  as  those  blank  and  dreary  streets 
the  "  boulevards  exterieurs  "  and  "  boulevards 
d'enceinte."  And  the  mangy  plane-trees  which 
line  the  Paris  boulevards  are  not  beautiful.  Those 
sickly  vegetables  struggle  valiantly  for  life  in  their 
evil  habitat,  but  fail;  a  daily  sight  in  Paris  is  the 
removal  of  dying  trees  from  the  boulevards. 
The  trees  of  Turin  are  magnificent  poplars,  chest- 
nuts, and  elms,  and  while  Paris  is  big  and  Turin 
little,  the  Piedmont  city  is  all  boulevards.  A 
visit  there  might  moderate  the  boastfulness  of  a 
Parisian — if  anything  could. 

By  the  way,  it  is  curious  that  Turin  should 
surpass  Paris  in  arcades,  when  one  recalls  that  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  Paris's  boasted  arcade,  was  built 
with  the  proceeds  of  plunder  "  conveyed  "  from 
the  Piedmont  capital. 

Turin  is  on  the  great  highway  of  travel  be- 
tween   France  and   Italy   by  way  of  the  Mont 

256 


THE   GARDEN    OF  LOMBARDY 

Cenis  tunnel.  But  the  Mont  Cenis  tunnel  does 
not  pierce  Mont  Cenis.  The  mountain  through 
which  it  is  bored  is  called  the  "  Col  de  Frejus." 
The  old  Mont  Cenis  pass  is  seventeen  miles  to 
the  eastward.  The  tunnel  is  eight  miles  in  length, 
and  is  nearly  a  mile  below  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain it  pierces,  whose  top  is  about  nine  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  The  tunnel  was  begun  in 
1 857.  The  French  engineer,  Sommelier,  directed 
this  great  work,  as  one  learns  from  the  monu- 
ments erected  to  him.  Over  two  thousand  men 
were  employed  night  and  day  for  thirteen  years. 
It  was  finished  in  1870.  The  tunnel  cost  75,- 
000,000  francs,  50,000,000  of  which  were  paid 
by  France  and  25,000,000  by  Italy.  The  tun- 
nel is  twenty-six  feet  wide,  nineteen  feet  high,  and 
contains  a  double  track. 

The  St.  Gothard  tunnel  was  the  next  after  the 
Mont  Cenis  to  pierce  the  Alps.  Note  the  differ- 
ence in  cost  and  time.  It  took  ten  years  to  bore 
the  St.  Gothard — from  1872  to  1882 — and  the 
tunnel  cost  about  57,000,000  francs,  as  compared 
with  thirteen  years  and  75,000,000  for  the  Mont 
Cenis.  The  St.  Gothard  railway  and  tunnel 
together  cost  238,000,000  francs.  In  crossing 
the  Alps  by  the  St.  Gothard  railway  there  are 
seventy-nine  tunnels  in  all,  with  a  total  length  of 
R  257 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

twenty-nine  miles.  There  are  over  one  hundred 
bridges  and  fourteen  viaducts.  This  great  enter- 
prise was  directed  by  Louis  Favre,  the  famous 
engineer,  who  died  in  the  tunnel  in  1879,  smitten 
by  apoplexy. 

A  third  Alpine  tunnel  is  now  in  course  of  con- 
struction at  the  Simplon  Pass ;  it  is  superior  to 
either  of  the  others  in  every  respect ;  it  has  four 
tracks  instead  of  two,  is  better  ventilated,  and  is 
brilliantly  lighted  with  electric  lights.  It  will 
be  interesting  to  see  how  much  less  will  be  the 
number  of  millions  and  how  much  fewer  the 
number  of  years  required  for  this  third  boring 
of  the  Alpine  range. 

Some  years  ago  there  started  in  Italy  a  spectac- 
ular pantomime  called  "Excelsior."  It  was  so 
successful  that  it  was  reproduced  in  Paris  at  the 
Eden  Theatre.  From  there  it  was  taken  to  the 
United  States,  where  its  success  was  repeated. 
In  New  York,  Chicago,  and  San  Francisco  it  had 
long  runs.  It  was  an  allegorical  representation 
of  "the  triumph  of  civilization."  One  act  was 
devoted  to  engineering.  There  were  scenes  rep- 
resenting miners  laboring  like  troglodytes  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  boring  mountain  tunnels. 
Suddenly  the  rock-demons  appear  and  attack  the 
miners.     For  a  moment  the  result  is  in  doubt. 

258 


THE    GARDEN    OF   LOMBARDY 

The  engineer-in-chief  is  himself,  for  stage  pur- 
poses, laboring  with  a  pickaxe  at  the  head  of  his 
squad ;  he  makes  agitated  gestures  signifying  that 
all  is  lost.  The  miners  turn  to  flee.  But  a  crash 
of  music  is  heard.  A  number  of  fairies  appear, 
clad  principally  in  pink  tights  with  electric  lights 
in  their  hair.  The  fairies  extend  their  wands,  the 
fiddles  in  the  orchestra  perform  an  agitated  pizzi- 
cato, the  trombones  gurgle  lugubriously,  and  the 
demons  flee.  Thereupon  Signorina  Foljambe,  the 
boss  fairy,  executes  ^  pas  seul.  She  is  soon  joined 
by  the  engineer-in-chief,  and  it  becomes  a  pas  de 
deux.  The  miners  lay  aside  their  picks,  join  the 
fairies,  and  it  becomes  a  grand  ballet  electrique. 
The  curtain  falls  upon  this  pleasing  apotheosis 
of  the  triumph  of  electricity  and  civilization  over 
darkness  and  rock-demons. 

At  the  time  it  was  a  little  difficult  to  under- 
stand the  genesis  of  this  queer  ballet.  But  it  is 
evident  that  it  was  due  to  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  ardent  Italian  imagination  by  the  great 
tunnels  piercing  the  Alps.  The  long  years  the 
work  was  in  progress,  the  thousands  of  men  en- 
gaged in  it,  the  new  processes  developed  in  boring 
the  tunnels,  the  evolution  of  the  electric  light 
and  the  compressed-air  drill,  the  vast  sums  of 
money   required,   the  hundreds   of  lives   lost  in 

259 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

accidents,  and,  finally,  the  dramatic  death  of  sev- 
eral of  the  engineers  while  at  their  posts — -all 
these  things  powerfully  impressed  the  Latin  mind. 
Hence  it  is  that  in  Turin,  the  nearest  large  city 
to  the  first  Alpine  tunnel,  you  see  monuments 
commemorating  these  great  engineering  works 
and  their  builders,  the  great  engineers.  One 
monument  in  particular  is  a  daring  piece  of  sculp- 
ture. It  is  an  enormous  heap  of  granite  blocks, 
down  which  are  hurled  the  forms  of  the  writhing 
rock-demons,  while  the  apex  is  crowned  by  a 
beautiful  female  figure,  the  Genius  of  Civilization. 
There  are  monuments  to  Engineers  Sommelier 
and  Favre  in  several  cities,  French,  Swiss,  and 
Italian.  On  the  French  side  of  the  frontier  there 
is  a  particularly  handsome  one  to  Sommelier,  in 
the  little  city  of  Annecy.  Our  American  en- 
gineers have  accomplished  marvels  in  spanning 
mighty  rivers,  boring  great  tunnels,  and  crossing 
lofty  mountain  ranges.  These  are  their  mon- 
uments. But  are  there  in  America  any  other 
monuments  to  American  engineers? 


260 


^^Harvest-time  in  Savoy. 


IN   FRENCH    SAVOY 

IN  traveling,  one's  itinerary  is  often  changed  by- 
trifles.  We.  were  at  Turin ;  we  were  going  to 
Paris ;  we  thought  we  would  break  the  journey. 
But  where  ?     We  looked  at  the  map. 

"  Let  us  stop  at  Chambery.'' 

"  But  where  is  Chambery  ?  " 

"  In  French  Savoy." 

"  But  what  is  Chambery  ?  " 

"  A  place  where  they  make  gaze" 

"  And  what  is  gaze  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  Bret  Harte's  poem  ? — 

"  'But  yet,  just  this  moment,  while  sitting 

In  the  glare  of  the  grand  chandelier. 
In  the  bustle  and  glitter  befitting 

The  finest  soiree  of  the  year, 
In  the  mists  of  a  gaze  de  Chambery 

And  the  hum  of  the  smallest  of  talk, 
Somehow,  Joe,  I  thought  of  the  ferry. 

And  the  dance  that  we  had  on  the  Fork.* " 

Now  I  never  had  known  exactly  what  "  gaze  de 
Chambery  "  meant.     The  line  in  Bret  Harte  had 

261 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

always  sounded  to  me  like  "  in  the  midst  of  a 
'  gaze  de  Chambery/ "  Even  to  the  meanest 
intelligence  it  evidently  had  something  to  do  with 
a  ball.  I  took  it  to  be  some  sort  of  a  dance — 
perhaps  not  the  ordinary  round  or  square  dance, 
but  a  cotillion — one  of  those  curious  forms  of 
modern  amusement  in  which  prosperous  young 
merchants,  promising  young  lawyers,  and  rising 
young  bankers  gravely  carry  pink  and  blue  ban- 
ners and  jump  through  red  and  yellow  hoops. 
French  Cotillon  means  English  "  petticoat " — 
that  is,  the  allegorical  or  personified  petticoat — 
"petticoat"  in  the  sense  of  petticoat  government, 
for  example.  See  "  Les  Cotillons  Celebres,"  by 
Arsene  Houssaye,  which  discusses  Celebrated 
Petticoats  like  Mesdames  du  Barry,  de  Main- 
tenon,  and  de  Montespan. 

Therefore,  cotillon,  a  dance ;  cotillon,  a  petti- 
coat; petticoat,  a  garment;  often  a  silk  garment; 
often  a  garment  o^ gaze  de  Chamhery,  This  seems 
circuitous,  but  it  may  be  called  a  whimsical 
syllogism. 

We  stopped  over  in  Savoy,  and  we  went  to 
Chambery. 

Once  before  our  itinerary  had  been  unexpect- 
edly changed.  We  were  in  Munich,  and  about 
leaving  for  Lucerne.     We  went  to  Cook's  office 

262 


I 


IN    FRENCH   SAVOY 

to  buy  our  tickets — a  good  place  to  go,  as  you 
will  see.  I  asked  for  tickets  from  Munich  to 
Lucerne  by  rail.  The  clerk  got  down  the  tickets, 
but  before  stamping  them,  said: 

"Why  don't  you  go  across  the  lake?" 

"What  lake?" 

"  The  Boden  See.  The  fare  is  just  the  same 
as  by  the  all-rail  journey,  and  it  is  much  more 
agreeable.  The  lake  is  beautiful,  the  boats  are 
comfortable,  and  the  table  is  good.  If  you  go 
around  the  lake  by  rail  you  will  have  to  pass 
through  three  custom-houses." 

He  was  right,  for  the  shores  of  the  lake  bristle 
with  Bavarian,  Swiss,  Wurtemburger,  and  Austrian 
custom-houses.  We  had  not  thought  of  this,  so 
we  went  across  instead  of  around  the  lake,  as  he 
advised.  We  would  never  have  received  such  a 
useful  tip  from  one  of  those  surly  Germans  whose 
red  noses  glow  behind  the  wired  windows  in  the 
railway  offices.  They  do  not  deal  in  courtesies  or 
smooth  words.     They  deal  in  tickets. 

As  a  result  of  this  unexpected  change,  our 
route  took  us  to  the  little  town  of  Lindau-im- 
Bayern.  To  our  shame,  be  it  said,  we  had  never 
heard  of  Lindau.  It  is  a  pretty  little  South- 
German  town,  with  a  little  garrison,  a  little  fortress, 
a  little  mole  running  out  into  the  lake,  crowned 

263 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

at  the  end  with  a  little  light-house.  It  is  the 
queerest,  quaintest  little  city  that  one  could  find 
in  a  day's  ride.  It  smacks  of  Nuremberg,  one  of 
the  show  cities  of  South  Germany,  yet,  unlike 
Nuremberg,  it  is  not  tourist-ridden.  We  were  so 
charmed  with  Lindau  that  we  spent  some  days 
there,  then  crossed  the  lake  to  Romanshorn,  in 
Switzerland,  and  thence  wended  our  way  to  Lu- 
cerne. One  of  the  delights  of  travel  is  to  draw 
up  itineraries  and  then  not  follow  them.  Another 
is  to  determine  firmly  to  go  Somewhere  and  then 
go  Somewhere  Else. 

I  have  smiled  since  when  I  think  how  much 
trouble  we  had  trying  to  go  around  the  Boden 
See,  and  how  much  we  enjoyed  it  when  we  failed. 
It  reminds  one  of  the  venerable  anecdote  of  the 
Yankee  traveler  in  the  old  days  before  Germany 
was  united — when  the  country  was  made  up  of 
grand -duchies  and  ruled  over  by  serene  high- 
nesses, each  with  its  own  mint,  its  own  postage- 
stamps,  its  own  custom-house,  its  own  army,  its 
own  field-marshal,  and  its  own  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour. To  one  of  these  minute  empires  there 
came  a  Yankee,  much  bedeviled  by  many  custom- 
houses. When  stopped  on  a  new  frontier  for  the 
fortieth  time,  his  patience  gave  out. 

"  What  country  is  this  ?  " 
264 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 


"  It  is  the  Grand -Duchy  of  Gerolstein." 

"How  big  is  it?" 

"The    area    is    fifty    square    kilometres,    the 


pop 

"  Never  mind  the  population,"  said  the  dis- 
gusted Yankee.  "  You  're  not  a  country  ;  you  *re 
only  a  spot,     I  '11  go  around  you."     And  he  did. 

So  with  the  Boden  See.  We  had  looked  upon 
it  as  only  an  aqueous  spot,  and  had  intended  to 
go  around  it.  But  a  trifle  changed  our  minds, 
and  we  shall  always  carry  with  us  pleasant  recol- 
lections of  Lindau  in  Bavaria  and  of  the  Boden 
See. 

So,  going  from  Turin  to  Paris,  we  thought  we 
would  break  the  journey  at  Dijon.  But  when 
we  saw  "  Chambery"  on  the  map,  Bret  Harte's 
poem  decided  us.  It  was  resolved  that  we  must 
purchase  some  gaze  de  Chamhery,  So  we 
stopped  at  Chambery.  In  the  words  of  the 
railway  folder: 

"Chambery  is  a  city  of  21,700  inhabitants,  formerly 
capital  of  the  Duchy  of  Savoy,  at  present  chief  city  of  the 
Department  of  Savoy,  situated  on  the  line  from  the  Rhone 
to  Mt.  Cenis.  It  is  traversed  by  two  rivers,  the  Leysse 
and  Albanne,  which  empty  into  Lake  Bourget.  It  is  nine 
hours  from  Paris,  three  hours  from  Lyons,  three  hours 
from  Geneva,  and  is  270  metres  above  the  sea." 

265 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

To  which  I  may  add  that  I  never  saw  any  one 
who  had  been  there;  and  after  going  there  our- 
selves and  wandering  through  its  sleepy  streets,  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  one  ever  does  go 
there.  There  is  but  one  "grand"  hotel  there  — 
the  "  Furnished  Hotel  of  Italy,"  kept  by  Made- 
moiselle Vachiez,  on  the  Rue  Denfert-Rochereau. 
There  are  many  mesdemoiselles  in  Chambery 
keeping  shops,  and  there  are  also  many  widows 
in  business  there.  The  shrieking  sisterhood  who 
clamor  for  woman's  rights  would  scarcely  be  un- 
derstood in  that  town. 

Apropos  of  the  street  Denfert-Rochereau,  it 
reminded  me  of  an  experience  of  the  Paris  mu- 
nicipality. For  some  centuries  there  had  been 
a  Paris  street  called  "Rue  d'Enfer "  — "  Hell 
Street."  Board  after  board  of  burgesses  had 
tried  to  change  it,  but  always  failed.  Names 
of  French  heroes  were  tried  —  no  go;  French 
victories — they  would  not  stick.  The  Parisian 
populace  blandly  ignored  the  new  names,  and 
continued  to  call  it  "  Hell  Street."  Finally  there 
came  an  official  with  a  sense  of  humor.  He  no 
longer  appealed  to  the  mind  of  Paris,  but  to  its 
funny-bone.  So  he  called  it  after  a  notable 
Frenchman,  Denfert-Rochereau.  It  was  simple, 
you  see — Rue  d'Enfer,   Rue  Denfert-Rochereau 

266 


TRAJT 

UNIVERSITY 


5 


G 


IN    FRENCH   SAVOY 

— only  adding  a  tail.  The  pun  pleased  the 
Parisian  populace,  and  "Hell  Street"  at  once  lost 
its  evil  name  and  its  bad  odor. 

But  if  Chambery  was  deserted  of  tourists,  we 
found  the  little  French  city  not  uninteresting. 
Its  so-called  sights  were  soon  exhausted.  There 
were  the  castles  of  the  Dukes  of  Savoy,  dating 
from  the  thirteenth  century;  the  beautiful  Gothic 
Sainte-Chapelle,  dating  from  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury ;  the  monument  to  "  two  children  of  Savoy, 
the  brothers  Joseph  and  Xavier  de  Maistre," 
dating  from  the  day  before  yesterday  (it  was 
finished  in  1899);  and  the  venerable  Tower  of  the 
Archives,  dating  from  nobody  knows  when.  Then 
there  were  some  hideous  modern  monuments, 
among  them  a  statue  of  General  de  Boigne  crown- 
ing a  granite  column  supported  by  four  elephants ; 
he  was  a  Franco-Indian  soldier  who  had  returned 
to  his  birthplace,  become  pious  in  his  old  age,  and 
given  largely  of  his  Indian  stealings  to  Chambery 
charities.  There  was  the  garrison  of  Cham- 
bery, with  its  regiments  of  infantry,  and  cavalry, 
and  "  chasseurs  Alpins."  For  be  it  known  that 
on  the  Franco-Italian  frontier  there  are  special 
foot-soldiers  known  as  Alpine  regiments.  They 
are  all  mountaineers,  for  the  men  recruited  from 
the  lowlands  are  not  fit  for  duty  in  these  high 

267 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

altitudes.  The  dwellers  in  flat  lands  not  only 
have  flat  feet  but  flattened  lungs,  and  not  the 
highly  developed  bellows  requisite  for  military 
duty  in  the  high  Alps.  At  all  hours  of  the  day 
one  saw  red-legged  soldiers  hauling  forage,  carry- 
ing fuel,  acting  as  hostlers,  chambermaids,  and 
performing  other  unheroic  duties.  A  group  of 
private  soldiers  were  seated  near  us  at  a  cafe^  and 
I  listened  with  some  curiosity  to  note  what  they 
talked  about.  It  was  not  of  politics,  but  the 
trivial  gossip  of  the  barracks.  What  dull,  aimless 
lives  they  lead !  Fancy  taking  the  best  three 
years  of  a  young  man's  life  and  condemning  him 
to  garrison  duty  in  a  sleepy  country  town !  They 
are  conscripts,  and  enter  the  service  perforce,  un- 
like our  American  volunteers,  who  enlist  from 
love  of  adventure.  They  are  nearly  all  little  men, 
and  not  at  all  like  the  brawny  giants  in  our 
American  regiments.  But  little  men  as  fighters 
must  not  be  despised — videlicet  Japan. 

There  are  swell  cafes  in  the  little  town,  where 
the  officers  go,  and  into  which  the  privates  do  not 
venture.  There  also  may  be  found  the  great 
men  of  Chambery.  At  one  of  these  we  saw 
Mister  the  Mayor,  a  short,  fat  gentleman,  with 
much  dignity  and  a  double  chin.  He  was  pointed 
out  to  us  by  our  cafe  waiter.     We  were  much 

268 


'*  The  venerable  Tower  of  the  Archives. 


IN    FRENCH   SAVOY 

impressed,  and  said,  "How  then!  Is  that  truly 
Mister  the  Mayor?"  Our  admiration  greatly 
gratified  the  cafe  waiter.  We  spoke  of  the  cos- 
mopolitanism of  Chambery,  how  much  it  resem- 
bled Paris,  and  of  the  brilliant  circle  of  remarkable 
men  gathered  at  the  Cafe  Jean  Bouvier.  The 
^^/ waiter  interposed  with  much  gravity  to  remark 
that  all  strangers  regarded  Chambery  as  the  most 
cosmopolitan  city  of  Savoy.  As  who  should  say 
that  Salt  Lake  is  the  most  fashionable  city  of 
Utah.  And  that  reminds  me.  I  once  was  seated 
in  front  of  the  Walker  House,  Salt  Lake  City, 
in  a  tip-tilted  arm-chair,  while  an  affable  bell-boy 
conversed  with  me  about  the  many  merits  of  his 
native  place.  As  he  talked,  there  floated  by  a 
scrawny  young  woman  with  a  dish-shaped  face. 
In  the  centre  of  this  concave  countenance,  in  an 
aureola  of  freckles,  was  imbedded  an  apologetic 
pug  nose.  Her  face  reminded  me  of  an  Ethiop's 
ear — as  William  Shakespeare  says  somewhere.  I 
gave  a  start  of  well-counterfeited  admiration,  and 
remarked  for  the  benefit  of  both  bell-boy  and 
beauty  :  "You  have  some  very  pretty  women  in 
Salt  Lake."  To  which  the  gratified  bell-boy  re- 
plied :  "  Pretty  women  ?  I  should  say  so  !  There 
are  more  pretty  women  in  Salt  Lake  than  in  any 
city  in  the  U-nited  States.     Yes  siree." 

269 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

But  I  diverge.  I  wander  from  Chambery.  Let 
us  return.  We  were  gazing  with  respectful  ad- 
miration at  Mister  the  Mayor  and  the  municipal 
councilors  playing  at  dominoes  in  the  cafe\  Not 
in  the  plebeian  cafef  on  the  ground  floor,  whither 
any  man  might  go  who  possessed  a  silver  coin,  but 
in  the  cercle  au  premier^  or  "  club/'  on  the  first 
floor,  with  its  balcony  looking  upon  the  Street  of 
the  Porticoes. 

We  were  again  gratified  with  a  sight  of  Mister 
the  Mayor,  but  this  time  in  his  royal  robes,  as  it 
were,  wearing  a  swallow-tail  coat,  a  plug  hat,  and 
begirt  with  his  tri-colored  scarf  of  office.  It  was 
on  the  occasion  of  the  fraternal  visit  of  the  firemen 
of  Annecy  to  the  firemen  of  Chambery.  Annecy 
is  a  sister  metropolis  some  miles  away.  The  fire- 
men of  Chambery,  accompanied  by  the  Municipal 
Brass  Band,  or  Fanfare  Municipale,  paraded  in 
full  force,  headed  by  the  mayor.  At  the  railway 
station  they  received  the  firemen  of  Annecy, 
headed  by  the  mayor  of  Annecy  and  accompanied 
by  the  Annecy  Silver  Cornet  Band.  The  meet- 
ing of  the  two  mayors  baffles  my  poor  pen.  I 
have  seen  Yosemite  when  its  trails  were  covered 
with  ten  feet  of  snow.  I  have  seen  Niagara  in 
the  dead  of  winter  when  spanned  by  a  mammoth 
ice-bridge.     I  have  seen  Mont  Blanc.     But  for 

270 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 

icy  dignity,  for  freezing  grandeur,  I  have  never 
seen  anything  to  compare  with  the  meeting  of  the 
mayors  of  Annecy  and  Chambery. 

After  a  joint  parade  through  the  city,  the  two 
fire  departments  sat  down  to  a  grand  open-air 
banquet  in  the  main  square.  This  was  regarded 
with  much  curiosity  by  the  small  boys  of  Cham- 
bery, some  peasants  from  the  outskirts,  and  two 
much  edified  tourists  from  the  United  States. 

But  Chambery  saw  another  sight  when  the 
drums  beat  at  dead  of  night,  and  pyrotechnics 
cast  the  light  of  rockets  o'er  her  revelry.  This 
was  when  the  grand  display  of  fire-works  took 
place,  closing  this  imposing  festival.  The  local 
paper  the  next  day  remarked  that  it  was  probably 
the  finest  fete  ever  given  outside  of  Paris. 

Very  likely  it  was. 

But  I  preferred  the  Chambery  fair  to  the  fire- 
man's fete,  I  seem  dimly  to  remember  having 
seen  firemen's  parades  in  my  own  country  not  dis- 
similar to  this  Savoy  one.  But  the  fair  at  Cham- 
bery was  unlike  any  of  our  country  fairs.  There 
were  booths  without  number  where  "  barkers"  in 
fluent  French  invited  the  passing  crowd  to  enter. 
Fat  ladies  in  short  skirts  coyly  emerged  for  a  few 
seconds,  quivered,  undulated,  and  disappeared,  in 
the  hope  that  their  billowy  charms  might  attract 

271 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  passing  rustics.  "Lutteurs"  (strong  men, 
wrestlers)  came  to  the  doors  of  their  booths,  curled 
their  biceps,  patted  their  pectoral  muscles,  and 
boastfully  challenged  the  local  Samsons  to  enter 
their  booths  and  wrestle  for  a  prize.  Fairies 
more  or  less  youthful — in  pink  tights  showing 
many  "ladders"  and  much  darning  —  waved 
wands  at  the  doors  of  little  theatres,  and  favored 
the  passing  throng  with  dazzling  dental  smiles. 
Sharp-eyed  "spielers"  inveigled  dull  yokels  into 
wagering  their  coppers  on  tombolas.  Others  urged 
the  more  robust  rustics  to  blow,  to  strike,  to  pull, 
or  to  lift  their  machines  for  trumpery  prizes.  In 
the  centre  of  the  square  was  the  greased  pole, 
or  "  Mast  of  Cockayne,"  up  which  perspiring 
peasants  climbed,  clutching  at  beribboned  bacon 
flitches.  Merry-go-rounds,  or  carrousels^  whirled 
about  with  young  men  and  young  women  mounted 
upon  cock-horses  and  wooden  bicycles,  the  young 
men,  with  earnest,  foolish  faces,  trying  to  lance 
the  rings,  the  young  women  gravely  solicitous 
about  their  display  of  ankles,  and  primly  clutch- 
ing at  their  ballooning  skirts.  Painted  clowns 
strutted  up  and  down  in  front  of  gaudy  booths, 
whence  acrobats  emerged  at  times,  did  a  flip-flap 
or  two,  and  disappeared.  On  every  hand  were 
stalls   for  the   sale   of  queer  sausages  and  other 

272 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 

mysterious  comestibles.  And  there  was  food  for 
the  soul  as  well  as  for  the  stomach.  A  piano- 
organ  run  by  a  small  gas-engine  pulsated  on  the 
shuddering  air.  The  governor  was  out  of  order, 
and  at  times  there  were  eccentric  stop-cock  cres- 
cendoes, followed  by  weird  contrapuntal  effects 
coming  from  a  cracked  exhaust-pipe. 

Ah,  Music  !  Heavenly  maid  !  What  would 
life  be  without  music  ?     Ah,  what  indeed  ! 

But  again  I  wander.  What  of  the  gaze  de 
Chamhery  ?  We  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  it. 
Shop  after  shop  we  entered.  No  one  had  it. 
They  had  plenty  of  silk  of  Lyons,  silk  of  Rome, 
and  silk  of  Milan,  but  no  silk  of  Chambery. 
Apparently  they  had  never  heard  of  it.  Could 
it  be  like  the  snakes  in  the  history  of  Ireland?  — 
"Chapter  X. —  Snakes  in  Ireland, —  There  are 
no  snakes  in  Ireland."  It  began  to  look  as  if 
our  search  for  gaze  in  Chambery  would  result  in 
the  discovery  that  there  was  no  Chambery  gaze. 
But  a  glove  merchant  at  last  betrayed  the  secret 
which  the  silk  merchants  had  tried  so  carefully  to 
conceal.  Gaze  was  to  be  found  only  at  Michard's 
silk  factory.  Thither  we  at  once  repaired,  and 
found  the  gaze  in  all  shades  and  colors  and  pat- 
terns. . 

When  in  a  mercer's  shop,  and,  above  all,  in  a 

s  273 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

silk  mercer's  shop,  a  mere  man  had  best  be 
silent.  Words,  no  matter  how  few,  only  betray 
his  ignorance.  If  he  speaks,  pitying  feminine 
eyes  regard  him,  not  unkindly,  as  who  should 
say:  "The  man  really  does  not  look  to  be  such 
an  idiot."  But  as  we  were  leaving  the  silk  factory 
my  curiosity  overcame  my  prudence,  and  I  said 
to  the  smart  young  woman  who  had  been  selling 
us  silks : 

"Pardon  me,  mademoiselle,  but  can  you  tell 
me  why  in  the  shops  of  Chambery  one  can  not 
purchase  the  silk  of  Chambery  ? " 

To  which  she  replied,  like  lightning:  "Cer- 
tainly, monsieur;  it  is  very  simple.  We  do  not 
let  the  shops  have  it  to  sell  because  we  prefer  to 
sell  it  ourselves." 

I  went  away,  pondering  on  the  density  of  some 
people's  brains. 


The  country  round  about  Chambery  is  pic- 
turesque and  beautiful.  It  resembles  Switzerland, 
but  its  valleys  are  larger,  its  mountains  not  so 
stern.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  Europe  a 
more  charming  country  than  this  pleasant  land 
of  Savoy.  And  what  adds  to  its  charm  is  that  the 
pleasant  land  of  Savoy  is  inhabited  by  pleasant 

274 


'*A  little  gorge  which,  though  microscopic,  is  very  pretty. 


IN    FRENCH   SAVOY 

people.  It  is  my  experience  that  the  further  north 
you  go  in  Europe  the  less  agreeable  you  find  the 
people.  In  southern  Europe  they  are  always 
courteous ;  in  northern  Europe  they  are  not 
always  so.  In  southern  Germany  they  are 
gemuthlich;  in  northern  Germany  they  are  sour. 
In  Vienna  the  police-officers  are  more  than  civil ; 
in  Berlin  they  sometimes  are  silent  and  sometimes 
are  surly.  In  Yorkshire  and  in  other  parts  of 
Great  Britain  this  northern  trait  is  carried  to  an 
extreme.  Lest  this  be  disbelieved  by  patriotic 
Englishmen,  let  me  quote  the  remarks  of  a  York- 
shire woman  about  Yorkshire.  Mrs.  Gaskell 
wrote  in  her  life  of  Charlotte  Bronte:  "  A  stranger 
in  Yorkshire  can  hardly  ask  a  question  without 
receiving  some  crusty  reply,  if  indeed  he  receive 
any  at  all.  Sometimes  the  rudeness  amounts  to 
positive  insult."  Mrs.  Gaskell  hastens  to  add, 
however,  that  the  Yorkshire  folk  have  "  latent 
kindliness."  It  is  sincerely  to  be  hoped  so.  I 
think  it  was  in  Cornwall  that  Punch  found  one 
of  its  famous  jests  : 

First  native  (pointing  at  stranger) — "  Who  's 
him  ? " 

Second  native — "  Dunno.     Looks  like  a  stran- 
ger. 

First  native — "  'Eave  *arf  a  brick  at  *im." 
275 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

There  is  a  difference,  also,  between  the  man- 
ners of  Savoy  and  those  of  northern  France. 
Much  of  the  so-called  Parisian  politeness  is 
spurious.  A  Frenchman  will  enter  a  railway- 
compartment,  lift  his  hat  politely  when  he  enters, 
and  then  for  hours  will  rudely  stare  a  lady  out 
of  countenance.  Even  the  waiters  have  a  veiled 
and  polished  insolence,  although  they  address  you 
most  respectfully  in  the  third  person. 

When  southern  Europeans  come  to  America, 
the  manners  at  first  must  seem  to  them  a  little  curt. 
Once  I  heard  a  stranger  ask  a  New  York  police- 
man at  a  dock-gate  whether  his  carriage  might  be 
driven  on  the  dock.  The  officer  was  eating  an 
apple,  and  paused  for  a  moment  with  a  large 
spheroidal  isosceles  triangle  in  his  mouth.  Chil- 
dren use  two  kinds  of  grunts  —  the  negative  grunt 
and  the  affirmative  grunt — impossible  to  repro- 
duce on  paper.  The  policeman  gave  the  affirma- 
tive grunt,  and  the  isosceles  triangle  of  apple 
disappeared  down  his  oesophagus.  On  another 
occasion  I  heard  an  Englishman  politely  accost 
an  official  in  blue  and  brass  at  a  North  River  pier. 
"  Would  you  be  kind  enough,"  said  he,  "  to  tell 
me  if  the  Sandy  Hook  boats  start  from  here  ?  " 
The  official  repHed,  laconically,  "Sure." 

But  this  curtness  does  not  savor  of  incivility. 
276 


The  medicsval  abbey  of  Hautecombe ^ 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 

On  the  contrary,  wherever  I  have  been  in  the 
United  States  strangers  are  treated  with  the 
utmost  kindness,  and  people  frequently  go  out 
of  their  way  to  direct  them. 

In  Savoy  the  people  seem  to  me  more  genu- 
inely kindly  than  in  northern  France.  There  is 
much  civility  in  Switzerland,  but  it  is  often  merely 
mercenary.  We  found  few  or  no  beggars  in  Sa- 
voy. In  fact,  we  found  it  difficult  sometimes  to 
get  the  children  to  accept  coppers  for  being  ko- 
daked. In  some  other  parts  of  Europe  the  sight 
of  a  camera  brings  them  around  you  in  clouds, 
like  mosquitoes. 

We  took  pictures  of  many  children  and  many 
harvest  scenes  in  the  pleasant  lands  of  fair  Savoy. 
For  miles  around  Chambery  there  are  drives  and 
rides  without  number;  excursions  to  the  many 
peaks  of  the  French  Alps;  drives  through  the 
smiling  fields  of  the  valley  of  the  Rhone;  boating 
trips  upon  the  little  lake  Bourget,  with  its  pic- 
turesque villages  and  its  mediaeval  abbey  of 
Hautecombe ;  voyages  by  canal  from  Lake  Bour- 
get to  the  Rhone;  visits  to  the  "Roman  an- 
tiquities," on  which  local  antiquarians  descant 
with  great  gravity;  trips  to  the  little  gorges, 
like  that  of  Sierroz,  which,  though  microscopic, 
is  very  pretty;   taking  pictures  of  the  old  mill, 

277 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

below  the  cascade  of  Gresy,  where  an  unfortunate 
lady-in-waiting  was  drowned,  and  where  stands  a 
monument  erected  to  her  by  Queen  Hortense; 
visits  to  Charmettes,  where  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
lived  when  he  was  exiled  from  France,  in  which 
village,  when  Savoy  was  annexed  to  France,  the 
luckless  philosopher  found  that  he  had  returned 
from  exile  without  moving  a  step;  so  anomalous 
was  his  position  that  the  government  finally  de- 
cided to  let  him  alone.  There  are  all  sorts  of 
excursions.  If  there  are  "little  trips"  to  be  made 
in  Savoy,  by  mock  mountain-climbers  and  pretty 
Parisiennes  in  high-heeled  slippers  leaning  on 
highly  varnished  alpenstocks,  there  are  also  ascents 
for  what  the  French  call  "  serious  alpinists." 
Many  people  think  Mont  Blanc  is  in  Switzer- 
land, but  they  are  in  error.  It  is  in  France — in 
the  Department  of  Savoy.  And  he  or  she  who 
climbs  Mont  Blanc  is  no  mock  mountain-climber, 
but  indeed  an  "  alpiniste  serieux." 

When  we  stopped  over  for  the  gaze  de  Cham- 
hery  the  harvest  was  being  gathered  in  Savoy.  In 
Savoy  everybody  works.  In  the  hay-fields  were 
to  be  seen  old  men,  old  women,  and  little  chil- 
dren— lusty  youth  as  well  as  sturdy  middle  age. 
Over  the  smooth  roadways  creaked  and  groaned 
the  heavy  wains  laden  with  fragrant  hay.     Even 

278 


Even  the  cows  work  in  Savoy. 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 

the  cows  work  in  Savoy,  for  we  met  many  and 
many  a  hay-cart  drawn  by  mild-eyed  kine,  their 
udders  heavy  with  milk.  We  paused  at  one  such 
team,  a  pair  of  handsome  cows,  drawing  a  load  of 
hay,  with  a  sturdy,  brown-faced  woman  driving 
them,  and  a  shy  child  perched  on  top  of  the  hay. 
We  stopped  to  take  a  picture  of  them.  The 
handsome -cows  —  which  looked  like  Alderneys, 
by  the  way — were  called  Lorraine  and  Alsace. 
When  we  asked  if,  in  Savoy,  cows  were  worked 
thus  always,  their  conductor  replied :  "  No, 
madame;  no,  monsieur  —  only  for  the  harvest. 
In  Savoy  everybody  works  at  harvest-time."  So 
we  gave  the  large-eyed  child  some  coppers,  and 
bade  them  farewell.  Lorraine  and  Alsace  took 
up  their  burden,  the  hay-wain  creaked  and  groaned 
as  it  started,  and  we  resumed  our  road  to  Cham- 
bery.  Dusk  was  falling  over  the  valley  as  the 
stream  of  peasants  and  people  left  the  fields  for 
their  homes.  But  the  intense  heat  of  the  mid- 
summer sun  still  lingered  in  cut  stalk  and  bruised 
blade,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  fragrance 
of  the  new-mown  hay. 

It  was  on  one  of  our  trips  from  Chambery  to 
the  curious  tooth-like  Alp  known  as  the  "  Dent 
du  Chat "  that  we  met  a  pair  of  Savoyard  lovers. 
Around  a  bend  in  the  mountain  road  there  came 

279 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

a  light  farm-wagon  drawn  by  two  handsome 
mules  hitched  tandem-wise  with  jingling  bells. 
In  the  wagon  were  seated  a  young  man,  a  young 
woman,  and  a  little  boy — the  latter  evidently 
playing  chaperon.  The  afternoon  sun  was  stream- 
ing over  the  group,  and  behind  them  as  the  road 
curved  over  the  mountain  flank  was  the  vast 
shadow  cast  by  the  lofty  Peak  of  the  Cat's  Tooth. 
It  was  a  scene  that  would  have  inspired  even  a 
professional  photographer.  We  hastened  to  ask 
permission  to  take  a  picture.  I  was  already  finger- 
ing some  small  silver  in  my  pocket.  There  are 
peasants  who  would  sell  their  mothers*  tomb- 
stones for  trinkgeld,  but  these  did  not  strike  me 
so.  I  paused,  reflected,  and  released  my  hold 
upon  the  silver.  I  alighted,  took  ofi^  my  hat,  and 
asked  Monsieur  whether  Mademoiselle  would  be 
willing  to  form  part  of  a  photographic  group. 
Monsieur  looked  somewhat  confused,  but  politely 
doffed  his  cap  and  referred  the  matter  to  Made- 
moiselle. Mademoiselle  reflected,  and  thought 
that,  on  the  whole,  she  would  rather  like  it.  So 
the  photographs  were  taken  with  Mademoiselle, 
Monsieur,  and  the  youth,  who  was  evidently 
Little  Brother.  Mademoiselle,  with  a  semi- 
proprietary  air,  gave  directions  to  Monsieur  as 
to  how  he  should  stand.      Although   not  mar- 

280 


IN   FRENCH   SAVOY 

ried,  they  were  evidently  soon  to  be.  And  he 
regarded  Mademoiselle  with  a  fond  and  sheep- 
ish pride  which  showed  plainly  that  she  belonged 
to  him. 

When  the  pictures  had  been  taken,  I  dismissed 
all  thought  of  the  silver  in  my  pocket,  and  asked 
Mademoiselle  for  her  address,  that  I  might  send 
her  some  prints  of  the  photographs.  She  gave  it 
to  me  with  minute  care : 

Mademoiselle  Reverdy^ 

Care  of  M.  Reverdy^  Franfols^ 
Vigneron.^ 

Commune  of  la    Charvaz^ 

Department  of  Haute   Savoie^ 

France. 

And  with  mutual  good-will  and  kindly  salutes  on 
both  sides,  we  parted.  As  we  wound  down  the 
mountain-side  toward  Chambery,  they  drove  up 
toward  the  Cat's  Tooth  Peak,  and  the  jingling 
bells  of  the  mule  tandem  died  away  in  the  dusk 
and  the  dim  forest. 

Buxom  Mademoiselle  Reverdy!  Over  leagues 
of  land  and  miles  of  water  I  salute  you.  May 
the  pictures  reach  their  destination  safely.  May 
your  lover  always  be  as  lover-like  as  when  we 
"snapped"  you  on  the  Dent  du  Chat.    And  may 

281 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 


you  always  be  as  happy  when  you  are  Madame 
as  you  looked  that  summer  evening  in  Savoy 
when  you  were  Mademoiselle. 


282 


^ 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

THE  most  frequent  question  heard  by  an  Amer- 
ican returning  from  the  Paris  Exposition  is : 
"How  did  it  compare  with  Chicago  ?"  To  which 
the  only  answer  is  that  the  expositions  of  Paris 
and  Chicago  were  as  dissimilar  as  are  the  cities 
of  Chicago  and  Paris. 

It  is  the  fashion  in  many  parts  of  the  United 
States  to  sneer  at  Chicago.  This  is  notably  the 
case  in  San  Francisco.  Most  San  Franciscans 
say  they  dislike  Chicago.  It  is  true  that  there 
is  much  that  is  unlovely  there.  To  the  im- 
patient traveler  hastening  from  New  York  to 
San  Francisco  the  enforced  stop  at  Chicago  is 
distasteful.  For  Chicago  has  contrived  things  with 
such  skill  that  it  is  difficult  to  cross  the  continent 
without  stopping  within  her  gates.  Everybody 
must  pay  toll.  The  pilgrim  must  pause,  even 
though  he  do  not  unpack  his  wallet.  He  must 
stop  at  least  for  a  bath  and  a  bite.  You  find  it 
difficult  to  go  around  Chicago.  Chicago  will  not 
let  you  pass  her  without  stopping. 

283 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

But  sneer  at  Chicago  as  one  may,  the  fact 
remains  that  she  has  always  had  the  courage  of 
her  convictions  and  a  strong  individuahty.  This 
is  notable  in  her  residences.  Years  ago,  before 
the  dwellers  in  Eastern  cities  dared  to  depart 
from  the  conventional  brick  cube,  Chicago  carried 
out  some  original  ideas  of  her  own.  I  used  to 
think  then  that  such  residence  streets  in  Chicago 
as  Michigan,  Calumet,  and  Indiana  Avenues  were 
certainly  more  original  and  possibly  more  beauti- 
ful than  any  similar  streets  in  any  Eastern  city. 
I  never  admired  the  veneered  brick  houses  of 
New  York,  called  "brown-stone  mansions."  The 
miles  and  miles  of  red  brick  dwellings  in  Boston, 
Baltimore,  and  Philadelphia,  diversified  by  white 
marble  trimmings  in  the  latter  city,  always  seemed 
to  me  staring  advertisements  of  the  lack  of  origi- 
nality on  the  part  of  their  owners.  A  new-rich 
man  did  not  dare  to  build  a  new  style  of  house. 
He  was  forced  to  build  like  the  old-rich.  But 
Chicago's  new-rich  men  built  as  they  pleased.  The 
result  was  often  grotesque,  sometimes  pleasing, 
but  always  original.  And  it  is  my  belief  that  the 
change  which  has  come  over  the  residence  quar- 
ter in  Eastern  cities  in  the  last  fifteen  years  has 
been  largely  due  to  the  influence  of  Chicago. 

Even  in  New  York,  on  Fifth,  Madison,  and 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

Lexington  Avenues,  one  may  now  see  houses  of 
varying  styles  of  architecture  and  built  of  various 
kinds  of  stone.  So,  too,  in  Washington,  the  cap- 
ital, which  is  now  a  city  of  beautiful  homes. 
Boston,  Baltimore,  and  Philadelphia  are  more 
conservative,  but  even  they  are  yielding.  In 
originality  and  individuality  in  residence  archi- 
tecture Chicago  among  American  cities  was  the 
pioneer.  So  was  she  the  pioneer  in  the  mod- 
ern architectural  abominations  known  as  "sky- 
scrapers." 

The  architecture  of  Chicago's  exposition  of 
1893  left  a  marked  impress  upon  the  American 
nation.  It  was  sober,  dignified,  and  beautiful. 
The  general  scheme  was  evolved  by  the  Chapter 
of  American  Architects.  They  designed  a  num- 
ber of  imposing  buildings  which  were  to  form  a 
homogeneous  whole.  It  goes  without  saying  that 
these  buildings  were  largely  modeled  upon  classic 
lines.  Few  who  saw  the  buildings  of  the  Chicago 
Exposition  will  forget  them;  no  one  who  saw  the 
beautiful  Court  of  Honor  at  night,  with  its  white 
lines  starting  out  of  the  darkness,  with  its  white 
beauty  bathed  in  the  white  electric  light,  with  its 
beautiful  statues  and  fountains,  its  quadriga  and 
the  portal  looking  out  upon  the  lake — no  one 
can  ever  forget  that  architectural  dream  of  beauty. 

285 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

And  a  very  great  pity  it  is  that  it  was  only  a 
dream. 

The  architecture  of  the  Paris  Exposition  was 
everything  that  the  architecture  of  the  Chicago 
Exposition  was  not.  Where  Chicago  was  sober, 
Paris  was  gaudy.  Where  Chicago  was  dignified, 
Paris  was  giddy.  Where  Chicago  was  white,  Paris 
was  prismatic.  Where  Chicago  was  beautiful, 
Paris  was  frivolous. 

The  Paris  Exposition  was  an  architectural  orgy 
of  tinsel  and  color.  Its  key-note  was  indicated 
in  the  main  entrance,  the  "  Porte  Monumentale." 
This  was  so  gaudy,  so  bespangled,  so  besprinkled 
with  color,  so  barbaric,  so  pseudo-oriental,  that  it 
suggested  the  entrance  to  a  gigantic  cafe  chantant. 
And  it  exactly  expressed  the  Paris  Exposition  of 
1900. 

The  "  Porte  Monumentale  "  was  fitly  crowned 
with  a  colossal  statue  of  a  woman  in  the  fripperies 
and  fal-lals  of  1900.  She  looked  like  an  up-to- 
date  cocote,  and  probably  that  is  what  she  was 
intended  to  represent.  For  the  life  of  modern 
Paris  seems  to  be  the  apotheosis  of  the  cocote. 

There  is  another  difference  between  the  great 
fairs  of  Paris  and  Chicago.  When  the  Chicago 
Exposition  was  projected,  all  sorts  of  building 
schemes  and  hotel  syndicates  shot  up  like  mush- 

286 


Si- 

I 
I. 


PARIS   AND    CHICA 


rooms.  Shrewd  Chicago  business  men  provided 
plenty  of  money  for  the  erection  of  hotels  to 
house  the  millions  of  expected  visitors.  This  did 
not  seem  unwise,  for  after  the  fair  they  would 
have  their  substantial  buildings,  to  be  put  to  other 
uses.  But  the  panic  of  '^^  came,  and  the  visitors 
did  not.  Many  of  the  hotels  remained  empty. 
In  Paris,  on  the  other  hand,  few  new  hotels 
were  erected.  But  the  Parisian  speculators  put 
their  money  into  cafes,  theatres,  and  side-shows, 
with  equally  disastrous  results.  These  concerns 
failed  to  the  tune  of  several  hundred  millions  of 
francs.  At  the  Chicago  Fair,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  can  recall  but  one  collapsed  institution  of  the 
side-show  kind.  That  was  an  enormous  building 
near  Buffalo  Bill's  Wild  West  show.  It  was 
erected  by  a  syndicate.  This  building  in  plain- 
tive rooflessness  stood  all  through  the  fair  as  a 
dreadful  warning  to  trusting  capitalists. 

How  much  alike  is  human  nature  all  over  the 
world !  The  tendency  to  over-build  is  not  con- 
fined to  expositions.  All  around  Rome  one  may 
see  blocks  upon  blocks  of  six-story  buildings, 
tenantless  save  for  tramps,  often  roofless,  and 
always  windowless,  to  save  the  tax  on  glass.  These 
were  built  by  the  luckless  Roman  nobility  in  the 
real-estate  boom  of  the  'eighties.     Most  of  them 

287 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

were  mortgaged,  and  they  fell  in  to  the  banks.  It 
reminds  me  of  the  numerous  empty  hotels  in 
southern  California  in  1890.  Every  few  miles 
along  the  San  Fernando  and  San  Gabriel  Valleys 
you  would  see  handsome  boom-built  hotels,  with 
"running  water,  elevators,  and  electric  lights" — 
everything  but  guests. 

Yes,  human  nature  is  much  the  same,  in  all 
countries,  in  all  times.  Every  world's  fair  is 
going  to  be  the  greatest  that  was  ever  held.  Cred- 
ulous capitalists  rush  in  and  overdo  the  building. 
Credulous  speculators  rush  in  and  overdo  the 
side-show  business.  Result  —  collapse.  The 
credulous  public  rushes  in  and  always  vows 
that  this  is  the  last  word :  "  No  other  fair  can 
ever  equal  this."  You  will  find  expressions  like 
that  in  the  letters  and  memoirs  of  the  last  fifty 
years.  You  will  find  it  said  of  the  exposition  at 
the  Crystal  Palace  in  1851  ;  of  the  Vienna  World's 
Fair  in  1873  ;  of  the  Centennial  Exposition  in 
1876  ;  of  the  Paris  Exposition  of  1878  and  1889  ; 
of  the  Chicago  Fair  of  1893  ;  ^^^  ^^  ^^^  Paris 
Fair  of  1900.  Apropos  of  the  Crystal  Palace 
exhibit,  if  you  read  its  record  now,  it  seems 
almost  ludicrous  in  its  meagreness.  Probably 
our  St.  Louis,  New  Orleans,  Omaha,  and  San 
Francisco  fairs  were  magnificent  compared  to  it. 

288 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

Yet  it  was  believed  to  be  the  highest  pitch  of 
human  achievement  in  arts  and  manufactures. 
It  was  held  during  the  reign  of  Albert  the  Good, 
Prince  Consort  of  Queen  Victoria.  He  grew  so 
enthusiastic  over  the  Crystal  Palace  Fair  that  he 
believed  it  had  brought  about  a  reign  of  universal 
peace,  of  international  amity,  of  world-wide  friend- 
ship— that  war  should  be  no  more.  He  dubbed 
it  "The  Triumph  of  Peace."  Yet  immediately 
after  its  close  the  Crimean  War  broke  out,  and 
three  European  nations  fell  to  cutting  each  other's 
throats.  Fifty  years  have  elapsed  since  the  peace- 
dream  of  Albert  the  Good,  and  civilized  nations 
have  continued  to  cut  one  another's  throats  with 
the  greatest  ferocity.  And  during  the  year  of 
grace  1900 — end  of  the  century,  and  year  of  the 
Paris  Exposition — international  throat-cutting  was 
more  general  than  for  many  years. 


There  are  various  ways  of  seeing  a  modern 
exposition.  One  is  to  do  it  "thoroughly" — 
as  if  there  were  anything  thorough  in  this  world, 
unless  it  be  the  mental  equipment  of  a  very 
young  woman  who  has  "  finished  her  education." 

The  second  way  is  to  see  it  cautiously — which 
means  to  view  the  outsides  of  buildings,  to  take 
T  289 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

bird's-eye  views,  to  shun  crowded  places  and 
crowded  days,  and  to  avoid  being  fatigued,  hustled, 
or  bored. 

The  third  way  is  to  see  it  through  the  eyes  of 
others  —  by  photographs,  biographs,  illustrated 
periodicals,  and  letters  from  trained  correspond- 
ents. 

The  fourth  way  is  not  to  see  it  at  all. 

Of  these  four  methods,  the  wise  man  will  waver 
between  the  third  and  fourth.  Perhaps  the  third 
is  the  best. 

Even  with  the  best  of  intentions  and  the  most 
youthful  of  enthusiasms  no  one  can  see  any  expo- 
sition "  thoroughly."  As  Professor  Jowett  once 
said  to  his  students,  "  Gentlemen,  no  one  is  omni- 
scient, not  even  the  youngest  of  us."  And  it 
would  require  omniscience  to  do  an  exposition 
thoroughly.  The  average  man  who  goes  to  an  ex- 
position sees  so  many  things  of  which  he  knows 
absolutely  nothing  that  he  does  not  even  try  to 
know  more.  Like  the  Levite,  he  walks  by  on  the 
other  side.  What  human  brain  could  retain  any 
coherent  idea  of  such  a  string  of  things  as  these? — 

Lazarettos,  Cork  jackets.  Undressed  furs. 

Mineral  waters.  Wood  wool.  Pisciculture, 

Naval  torpedoes.         Mineral  wool.  Edible  mushrooms. 

Pontoon  bridges.         Birds*  eggs.  Artesian  wells, 
290 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 


Puddling, 

Mottled  tin. 

Door-knockers, 

Frozen  meat. 

Papier-mache, 

Sky-lights, 

Finials, 

Vanes, 

High-warp  looms, 

Moquette  carpets. 

Linoleum, 

Billiard-tables, 

Oil-burning  lamps. 

Repousse  work. 


Sidereal  clocks. 

Imitation  pearls. 

Aviaries, 

Goloshes, 

Floss-silk, 

Cosmetics, 

Barrel-organs, 

Micrometers, 

Periodicals, 

Bacteriology, 

Mother-of-pearl, 

Cooperative  stores, 

Post-offices, 

Cook-stoves, 


Ventilators, 

Thermometers, 

Automatic-cocks, 

Fire-dogs, 

Sewage-farms, 

Massage, 

Powder-mills, 

Hot-air  engines. 

Play-houses, 

Typography, 

Blow-pipes, 

Wood  alcohols. 

Pottery. 


I  am  not  purposely  pitchforking  things  together 
to  make  a  chance-medley.  I  am  simply  taking 
the  exhibits  as  they  happened  to  fall,  walking 
around  the  Paris  Exposition  from  the  Trocadero 
to  the  other  side  of  the  Seine. 

What  human  brain  could  give  forth  even  in- 
coherent ideas  regarding  them  if  they  could  be 
assimilated  ?  And  what  human  brain  could  digest 
such  an  agglomeration  of  non-agglomerable  mat- 
ters as  one  finds  at  an  exposition  ?  No  one  can 
see  an  exposition  thoroughly.  No  one  has  the 
time.  Physical  limitations  are  such  that  no  one 
has  sufficient  strength  of  mind  and  body  to  see 
thoroughly  in  the  allotted  period  what  an  ex- 
position contains. 

291 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

I  do  not  believe  that  an  exposition  possesses 
that  "educational  value"  which  many  attribute  to 
it.  Viewing  an  exposition  reminds  me  of  what 
are  called  "  popular  lectures."  Let  us  say  that  the 
subject  of  the  lecture  is  ichthyology.  I  select 
that  for  an  illustration  as  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  having  heard  many  popular  lectures  upon  the 
topic.  The  lecturer  will  attempt  to  compress 
into  an  hour  and  a  half  the  most  notable  facts 
in  the  science  of  ichthyology.  His  method  is 
unscientific.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to  an 
hour  and  a  half  because  the  science  of  ichthyology 
can  be  discussed  in  that  time,  but  because  ninety 
minutes  is  about  the  length  of  time  during  which 
an  average  audience  will  listen  to  a  lecture  and  not 
be  bored.  He  does  not  select  the  most  important 
facts  in  the  science  of  ichthyology,  but  the  most 
striking  ones.  This  also  is  unscientific.  He 
chooses  these  facts  because  they  will  amuse  and 
interest  the  audience.  In  this  end  he  generally 
succeeds,  but  at  a  cost  which  must  make  the  judi- 
cious grieve.  The  more  earnest  members  of  the 
audience  will  remember — if  they  remember  any- 
thing— that  the  lecturer  said  that  ichthyology  was 
derived  from  the  Greek  ichthyoSy  fish;  that  the 
whale  is  the  most  interesting  fish — which  it  is  not ; 
that  the  whale   is    a  warm-blooded    mammal  — 

292 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

which  is  not  always  true :  there  are  cold-blooded 
whales ;  that  there  are  other  mammals  in  the 
ocean  besides  whales ;  that  they  belong  to  the 
shark  family ;  that  there  are  sharks  which  leave 
their  eggs  to  be  hatched,  sharks  which  hatch  their 
eggs  themselves,  and  sharks  which  bring  forth 
their  young  alive ;  that  there  are  oviparous,  vivi- 
parous, and-ovo-viviparous  fishes;  that  if  all  the 
eggs  of  all  the  cods  were  to  be  hatched,  all  the 
ocean  would  be  speedily  filled  with  codfish  ;  and 
that  if  they  continued  to  breed  with  no  "struggle 
for  existence,"  the  earth  would  in  1,957,342  years 
become  a  vast  globe  of  codfish,  which  would  fill 
up  the  solar  system,  crowd  out  the  intramercurial 
planets,  and  shove  the  asteroids  into  kingdom 
come. 

From  such  a  lecture  as  this  the  average  hearer 
goes  away  with  a  vague  belief  that  it  is  a  good  thing 
the  big  fishes  eat  the  little  fishes,  that  ichthyology 
is  a  great  science,  and  that  Professor  Zoescope's 
lectures  are  real  nice. 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  average 
man's  attempt  to  "  see  an  exposition  thoroughly" 
is  very  similar  to  the  eflFort  of  an  audience  to 
absorb  science  at  popular  lectures. 


293 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

There  are  many  interiors  that  can  be  seen  to 
better  advantage  in  photographs  than  in  reality. 
Take  the  frescoes  on  the  ceiHngs  of  the  Vatican, 
for  example.  About  the  only  way  to  see  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  is  to  lie  on  your  back 
on  the  floor,  and  scrutinize  the  frescoes  through 
an  opera-glass.  This  method  is  unusual,  how- 
ever, and  attracts  attention.  Most  people  examine 
them  in  the  regular  way,  which  is  by  assiduous 
neck-twisting  and  vertebral  distortion.  The  slang 
phrase,  "  rubber-necking,"  expresses  it  exactly. 
Even  at  the  Paris  Exposition,  while  there  were 
no  Michael  Angelo  ceilings  or  Raphael  walls, 
there  was  much  art-work  in  high  places — ceil- 
ings, panels,  and  spandrels — that  could  only  be 
seen  by  "  rubber  -  necking."  And  very  weary 
work  it  was,  too.  How  much  easier  to  sit  down 
at  your  leisure  and  examine  these  frescoes  and 
alto-relievos  by  means  of  photographs !  You  see 
them  very  much  better,  and,  to  speak  plainly,  if 
you  don't  see  them  that  way,  you  may  not  see 
them  at  all.  For  many  people  get  so  leg-weary 
and  neck-weary  that  they  hang  their  heavy  heads, 
and  look  only  at  that  which  is  below  the  level 
of  the  eye. 

Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  some  outdoor 
scenes  look  better  in  photographs  than  in  reality. 

294 


"BTNIVERSITT 


I 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

Take,  for  example,  the  parks  and  gardens  of  Ver- 
sailles. Of  late  years  they  are  very  much  run 
down.  In  summer  the  trees  are  unkempt  and 
dust-covered,  the  grass  of  the  once  rich  green 
lawns  is  withered  and  burned,  the  driveways  are 
unsprinkled  and  dusty,  the  fountain-basins  and 
ornamental  sheets  of  water  are  covered  with  frog- 
spawn  and  green  slime.  Yet  in  the  photographs 
none  of  these  defects  can  be  discovered.  The 
lawns  look  luxuriant,  and  the  foliage  of  the  trees 
is  reflected  in  the  lakelets  as  if  they  were  great 
mirrors  of  quicksilver. 


At  the  Paris  Exposition  you  saw  on  every  hand 
people  showing  signs  of  complete  physical  ex- 
haustion. The  transportation  methods  were  crude 
and  insufficient.  As  the  jest  ran,  the  moving  side- 
walk took  you  everywhere  you  did  not  want  to  go. 
The  electric  railway  was  also  badly  planned.  There 
was  no  other  method  of  transportation  within  the 
grounds  except  the  rolling  chairs  and  Shanks's 
Mare.    The  latter  beast  is  faithful  but  easily  tired. 

In  addition  to  the  lack  of  means  of  transporta- 
tion in  the  exposition  grounds,  people  did  n*t 
know  where  to  go.  They  not  only  did  n't  know 
how   to  go   to   a  place,  but   they  did  n't   know 

295 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

where  the  place  was,  and  they  wouldn't  have 
known  what  to  do  when  they  got  there  if  they 
could  find  it,  and  they  could  n't  find  it.  The 
Columbian  Guards  at  Chicago  were  Admirable 
Crichtons  compared  to  the  attendants  at  the  Paris 
Exposition.  None  of  them  seemed  to  know 
anything  at  all  about  anything  whatever.  One  of 
the  main  entrances  near  the  Pont  des  Invalides 
was  suddenly  closed  one  night  at  8  p.  m.,  and  for 
hours  immense  crowds  were  turned  back — both 
ways — to  make  their  entrance  and  their  exit  at 
some  other  gate.  Nobody  stopped  these  crowds 
from  going  toward  the  closed  gate.  No  notice 
was  posted.  The  gate  was  closed.  That  was  all. 
Nobody  knew  why. 

The  fatigue  of  sight-seeing,  "  rubber-necking," 
and  being  jostled  by  the  crowds  affected  the 
visitors'  temper.  Americans  abroad  often  forget 
that  their  language  is  understood  by  many.  It  is 
very  common  in  Europe  to  hear  conversations 
of  the  most  startling  nature  in  English.  At  the 
exposition  these  frequently  took  the  shape  of  what 
I  may  call  building-bickering.  For  example,  this 
is  a  conversation  I  heard  just  inside  the  entrance 
of  a  building : 

She — "What  did  you  want  to  come  in  here 
for?" 

396 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

He — "  I  did  n*t  want  to  come  in  here." 

She — "  Why,  you  brought  me  in." 

Ue — "  No,  I  did  n*t — you  said  you  wanted  to 
come." 

She — "  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind." 

He  [looking  at  map]  — "  You  certainly  said  you 
wanted  to  come  into  the  Pavilion  de  Paree." 

She — "  Well,  I  did  n't  know  that  this  was  the 
Pavilion  de  Paree." 

He — "Well,  you  know  it  now." 

She — "What  is  there  to  see  in  here,  anyway?" 

He  [sulkily] — "I  don't  know;  you  brought 
me  here." 

She  [with  spirit] — "  I  didn't  any  such  a  thing ! " 

H^_"Youdid,  too!" 

She— ''I  didn't." 

^^_" You  did!" 

She  — ''I  ^idn  or     ^ 

[They  go  out  glaring  at  one  another,  and 
probably  do  not  speak  for  an  hour.] 

Other  and  more  cautious  couples  watch  one 
another  carefully  at  the  thresholds  of  buildings. 
The  one  who  first  crosses  the  threshold  becomes 
at  once  responsible  for  that  building.  Fatal 
step !  If  the  man  has  the  bump  of  caution  he 
lets  the  woman  go  first,  and  then  twits  her  with 
the  shortcomings  of  the  building ;  he  pooh-poohs 

297 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

everything ;  he  says,  "  Well,  is  this  your  Petty 
Pallay  dee  TArt  ?     I  don't  think  much  of  it." 

If  it  is  the  lady  who  is  cautious  she  makes  the 
man  wish  that  he  were  dead.  One  such  cautious 
creature  I  heard  goading  a  man  who  had  incau- 
tiously put  his  foot  first  into  a  building : 

"And  this  is  your  Pallay  dee  Costoom,  is 
it?  [«^^{^]  And  these  are  your  beauties,  are 
they  ?  [Sniff.']  Well,  if  ever  I  saw  such  a  homely 
lot !  \Sniff.~\  There  are  at  least  a  dozen  girls 
in  Smithtown  who  are  better-looking.  [Srnff.'] 
And  did  you  make  me  walk  miles  all  the  way  up 
that  hot  and  dusty  row  to  see  such  a  collection 
of  frights  ?  "     [Sniff,  sniff,] 

1  wondered  if  they  were  married. 


If  a  native  of  the  Paris  quarters  known  as  the 
Batignolles  or  Montmartre  were  to  drop  from  a 
balloon  into  the  Yosemite  Valley,  he  would,  as 
soon  as  he  got  his  wind,  proceed  to  arrange  a  cafe 
chant  ant.  It  would  have  a  canvas  background 
on  which  would  be  painted  mighty  ten-foot 
mountains  ;  it  would  have  an  imitation  waterfall, 
at  whose  base  would  boil  great  foaming  waves  of 
cotton  wool ;  it  would  have  giant  trees  cut  out  of 
zinc,  propped    up    behind  with    sticks ;     and    it 

298 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

would  have  tables  on  the  terrace  in  front,  where 
you  would  see  the  Paris  Figaro  and  the  Paris 
GauloiSy  and  where  peddlers  would  try  to  sell  you 
the  latest  obscene  Parisian  postal  cards.  So  with 
the  Paris  Exposition.  It  seemed  to  be  an  attempt 
to  reproduce  Paris  in  Paris.  There  was  an  entire 
building  devoted  to  "  La  Ville  de  Paris,"  filled 
with  portraits  of  Paris  prefects  and  Paris  depu- 
ties, relics  of  Paris  revolutions,  and  photographs 
of  Paris's  former  streets  and  squares.  There  was 
an  entire  quarter  called  "  Old  Paris,"  in  which 
you  saw  the  institutions  of  modern  Paris  as  they 
looked  in  ancient  Paris.  The  "  Midway  "  part  of 
the  exposition  was  largely  made  up  of  reproduc- 
tions of  theatres  and  cafes  of  Paris — attractions  of 
the  Montmartre  quarter,  of  the  Latin  quarter, 
and  of  the  boulevards.  The  remaining  shows 
were  biographic  and  cinematoscopic  representa- 
tions of  the  streets  of  Paris,  the  squares  of  Paris, 
and  the  actors  and  actresses  of  Paris. 

The  exposition  "theatres"  which  reproduced 
Montmartre's  attractions  came  to  grief  early. 
Like  Macduff,  they  were  untimely  plucked.  The 
exposition  visitors  did  not  fancy  the  things  which 
appealed  to  the  lovers  of  Montmartre.  That  is 
not  remarkable.  It  requires  a  peculiar  frame  of 
mind — vinous  or   alcoholic — to   appreciate   the 

299 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

humors  of  Montmartre.  I  have  never  quite 
understood  the  taste  of  those  Americans  who  go 
to  hideous  deadfalls  like  the  Cabaret  of  the 
Black  Cat,  the  Cabaret  of  the  Galley  Slave,  or 
the  Cabaret  of  the  Grave  Digger,  to  drink  steam 
beer  off  coffin-lid  tables,  served  by  half-tipsy 
ruffians,  attired  as  galley  slaves  or  professional 
mourners.  The  paretic  poets  and  alcoholic 
"humorists"  of  Montmartre  who  started  the 
small  theatres  in  the  exposition  all  had  to  close 
their  doors. 

In  theatricals,  that  which  was  most  interest- 
ing at  the  exhibition  was  the  museum  of  theatrical 
properties  and  souvenirs.  Among  other  things 
it  contained  scene-plots  of  famous  operas  and 
plays.  Some  of  them  came,  I  think,  from  the 
museum  of  the  Grand  Opera.  Some  years  ago 
the  director  of  the  Grand  Opera  library  showed 
me  through  the  museum.  There  were  scene- 
plots  in  miniature  of  most  of  the  operas  produced 
there,  such  as  "The  Prophet,"  "The  Hugue- 
nots," "Wilham  Tell,"  etc.  The  little  prosce- 
niums  were  elaborately  set  with  the  various  scenes 
painted  in  miniature  by  the  scene-painters,  and  the 
little  stages  were  covered  with  puppets  in  hand- 
some costumes  fashioned  by  the  costumers  of  the 
opera.     They  are  called  maquettes.     The  models 

300 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

at  the  exposition  were  similar  to  those  in  the 
opera  museum,  but  more  comprehensive.  There 
were  also  relics  of  famous  actors — for  example, 
Talma  as  the  Cid ;  Mademoiselle  Mars,  in  her 
dressing-room  filled  with  First  Empire  furniture 
given  her  by  Bonaparte;  the  "make-up"  toilet 
utensils  of  Mademoiselle  Rachel ;  Frederick  Le- 
maitre's  snuff-box ;  and  a  bust  of  Sardou  modeled 
by  Sarah  Bernhardt. 

The  most  successful  of  the  exposition  theatres 
were  those  devoted  to  the  dance.  The  "  Palace 
of  the  Dance  "  purported  to  reproduce  national 
dances,  but  they  were  national  dances  denation- 
alized and  conventionalized  by  a  French  ballet- 
master.  At  the  "  Palace  of  Woman  "  historical 
dances  were  given,  such  as  minuets,  danced  by 
court  ladies  before  Marie  Antoinette  and  Louis 
the  Sixteenth  to  the  music  of  ancient  spinets  and 
harpsichords.  This  was  one  of  the  best  of  the 
exposition  side-shows,  and  one  of  the  few  worth 
visiting.  Among  the  other  theatres  devoted  to 
dancing  there  were  the  usual  Oriental  dancers.  It 
is  scarcely  worth  while  enumerating  the  long  list  of 
the  exposition  side-shows.  Many  were  very  poor, 
and  some  were  bald  frauds.  One  of  the  most 
pretentious  was  the  Palace  of  Optics.  This  show 
was  almost  puerile.     A  large  proportion  of  the 

30L 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

side-shows  were  ordinary  panoramas,  variously- 
called  "  mareorama,"  "  stereorama/*  "  cineorama," 
and  "  diorama."  They  were  sometimes  called 
"  animated  voyages,"  and  one  gave  a  panorama 
of  a  trip  from  Moscow  to  Pekin  by  rail.  In  this 
you  were  seated  in  a  railway  car,  and  a  panorama 
rapidly  rolled  by  you ;  a  strip  of  canvas,  with 
sand  and  gravel  glued  on,  whirled  past  the  side 
of  the  car.  In  the  "mareorama"  you  crossed  the 
Mediterranean  to  Algiers,  passing  a  French  naval 
squadron.  You  were  apparently  on  the  deck  of  a 
pitching  and  tossing  ship ;  the  wind  whistled  in 
the  rigging,  and  there  was  a  strong  smell  of  tar. 
There  were  panoramas  representing  China,  Japan, 
and  other  out-of-the-way  corners  of  the  world, 
all  mediocre,  and  some  of  them  very  badly 
painted. 


In  the  exposition  grounds  on  every  hand  you 
saw  wearied  sight-seers  resting  on  the  few  benches 
that  a  thrifty  administration  had  placed  at  their 
command,  and  others  watching  and  waiting. 
Hundreds  of  green  -  painted  iron  chairs  stood 
invitingly  empty,  but  the  economical  sight-seers 
refrained  from  taking  them.  It  cost  ten  centimes 
to  sit  in  a  chair  without  arms,  and  fifteen  centimes 

302 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

to  sit  in  one  with  arms.  Hence,  most  of  the 
sight-seers  waited  for  empty  benches.  A  pleasing 
spectacle  was  the  rage  of  the  restaurateurs  who 
gazed  on  the  feeding  crowds  in  front  of  their 
gorgeous  establishments.  The  populace  would 
seat  themselves,  open  their  paper  bags  and  boxes, 
and  proceed  to  eat  their  frugal  luncheons  of  bread 
and  cheese,  charcuterie  and  sausages,  washed  down 
with  red  wine  and  eke  with  beer.  The  restaura- 
teurs tore  their  hair  as  they  sorrowfully  regarded 
their  empty  tables.  They  did  very  little  busi- 
ness, and  many  of  them  were  forced  to  close  their 
doors.  This  was  gratifying  to  every  person  who 
entered  their  portals,  for  they  were  more  accom- 
plished robbers  than  the  restaurant  men  of  Paris 
proper,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal. 

Many  visitors  were  surprised  at  the  utter  lack 
o{  interest  in  the  Paris  Exposition  on  the  part  of 
its  high  officials.  The  close  attention  paid  by  the 
directors  of  the  Chicago  Fair  was  absent  at  Paris. 
The  continual  succession  of  festivals,  special 
days — "  Chicago  Day,"  "  New  York  Day" — so 
notable  at  Chicago,  had  no  parallel  at  Paris.  It 
seemed  remarkable  that  the  French  officials  did 
not  stimulate  interest  by  such  methods.  They 
did  not  attempt  to  do  so  until  near  the  closing 
days  of  the  exposition.     The  explanation  is  that 

303 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  Paris  fair  was  paid  for  before  its  doors  were 
opened. 

This  indifference  led  to  a  lack  of  interest  on 
the  part  of  the  public.  Large  crowds  of  people 
must  be  specially  amused  —  it  is  not  sufficient 
to  turn  them  into  a  great  show  and  tell  them  to 
amuse  themselves.  Crowds  do  not  know  how 
to  amuse  themselves.  Many  individuals  lack  that 
knowledge.  As  a  result,  the  attendance  was  poor. 
Some  sixty-five  millions  of  tickets  were  issued, 
and  at  the  end  of  four  months  over  fifty  millions 
were  unused.  More  than  300,000  visitors  a  day 
were  expected,  yet  during  the  first  few  months 
the  average  was  about  100,000  admissions  a  day, 
40,000  of  which  were  free  —  exhibitors,  em- 
ployees, etc.  When  the  exposition  was  drawing 
toward  its  close,  in  November,  there  were  millions 
of  unsold  tickets.  Then  the  exposition  officials 
began  giving  a  series  of  festivals,  in  a  desperate 
attempt  to  work  off  the  tickets.  The  tickets 
were  stamped  "  one  franc,"  but  two  months  after 
the  opening  they  were  selling  for  half  that,  or 
fifty  centimes  ;  later  they  fell  to  fifteen  centimes, 
or  three  cents  apiece.  But  the  government  was 
secure,  as  the  tickets  were  unloaded  on  banks  and 
financial  syndicates,  which  peddled  them  out  to 
ticket-bureaus,  which  peddled  them  out  to  ticket- 

304 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

peddlers,  who  peddled  them  out  to  the  public. 
The  scheme,  like  that  of  1889,  carried  with  it  an 
issuance  of  government  bonds,  the  numbers  on 
which  were  good  for  lottery  prizes.  A  sheet  of 
twenty  tickets  was  called  a  "bond,"  and  many 
families  bought  them  for  the  lottery  attachments, 
thus  securing  their  admissions  in  advance.  The 
financial  institutions  handling  this  enormous 
scheme  were  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  the  Credit 
Foncier,  the  Bank  of  France,  the  Comptoir 
National,  the  Credit  Industriel,  and  the  Societe 
Generale. 

The  bonds  and  tickets  were  eagerly  snapped 
up,  and  the  exposition  was  practically  paid  for 
before  it  had  begun.  There  was,  of  course,  a 
heavy  loss,  but  it  did  not  fall  upon  the  state.  It 
was  so  divided  up  among  millions  of  people  that 
the  loss  to  each  was  small. 

One  of  the  results  of  the  cheapness  of  the 
exposition  tickets  was  the  cheapness  of  the  ex- 
position crowds.  The  difference  between  the 
visitors  at  Chicago  and  Paris  was  remarkable. 
It  was  the  difference  between  fifty  cents  and 
five  cents.  Paris  is  an  enormous  city;  in  its 
population  there  are  hundreds  of  thousands 
shading  off  from  the  poor  to  the  very  poor, 
the  pauper,  the  beggar,  the  vagrant,  and  the 
u  305 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

criminal  classes.  A  ticket  at  five  cents  was 
within  the  reach  of  many  of  these.  On  Sun- 
days, on  fete  days,  and  even  on  week  days, 
the  number  of  shabby  and  even  ragged  visitors 
was  very  large.  This  was  particularly  notice- 
able on  the  French  national  holiday,  when  the 
admission  was  only  one  ticket.  There  were 
very  few  visitors  at  the  Chicago  Fair  who  were 
not  at  least  respectably  dressed,  and  most  of  the 
visitors  were  well  dressed.  In  my  mind's  eye 
I  seem  to  see  now  about  100,000  young  women 
at  the  Chicago  Fair  all  in  sailor  hats,  light  shirt- 
waists, four-in-hand  ties,  Eton  jackets,  blue-serge 
skirts,  and  new  tan  shoes,  accompanied  by  100,- 
000  young  men  in  buzz-saw  straw  hats,  blue-serge 
sack  suits,  four-in-hand  ties,  neat  shirts,  natty 
belts,  and  new  tan  shoes.  They  looked  very 
much  alike,  it  is  true.  Young  Woman  No.  i 
looked  exactly  like  Young  Woman  No.  99,999. 
But  they  certainly  looked  well,  and  they  were 
a  pleasant  sight  to  gaze  upon.  Not  so  the  slink- 
ing, shabby  wretches,  the  frowsy  ruffians,  the 
blear-eyed  drabs  and  vicious  trollops  that  one  saw 
by  the  scores  of  thousands  at  the  Paris  fair. 
They  came  from  parts  of  Paris  that  tourists  rarely 
visit.  I  used  to  wish  that  they  had  stayed  there. 
They  were  not  nice  to  look  at  nor  to  rub  against. 

306 


PARIS   AND    CHICAGO 

The  vast  crowds  of  semi-beggars  at  the  fair 
plied  their  trade  there  unmolested ;  in  the  streets 
of  Paris  they  would  have  been  arrested.  Many 
of  them  were  criminals  as  well  as  beggars,  and 
combined  a  little  pocket-picking  with  beggary. 
"Beware  of  pickpockets,"  in  all  languages,  was 
the  most  frequent  sign  you  saw  at  the  fair. 

The  beggary  began  outside  the  exposition  in 
the  shape  of  ticket-peddlers;  old  men,  little  chil- 
dren, women  with  unweaned  babies,  hard-faced 
young  girls,  and  tough-looking  young  men — 
such  were  the  people  engaged  in  ticket-hawking. 
They  clung  closely  to  your  side,  if  you  were 
walking,  and  earwigged  you ;  if  children,  they 
hung  to  your  garments,  pestered  you,  and  got  in 
front  of  you ;  if  you  were  in  a  carriage,  the  men 
jumped  on  the  steps,  and  poisoned  you  with 
their  villainous  breath,  as  they  importuned  you 
to  buy.  Some  were  ruffianly,  and  strove  to  intim- 
idate foreigners  into  buying.  The  old  women 
and  children  whimpered  and  wheedled.  Around 
the  entrances  you  were  attacked  by  new  hordes 
of  hawkers,  not  only  ticket-peddlers,  but  venders 
of  maps  and  souvenirs.  When  you  had  run  the 
gauntlet  of  outside  beggars,  you  had  to  meet  a 
fresh  army  inside.  You  paid  to  get  into  the 
exposition;    you   paid    to   get   into    the    quarter 

307 


ARGONAUT  LETTERS 

called  "Old  Paris";  you  paid  to  get  into  a  thea- 
tre in  "  Old  Paris  " ;  you  paid  to  get  into  a  cafe 
attached  to  the  theatre  in  "Old  Paris" ;  you  paid 
for  your  beverage  in  the  cafe;  you  paid  the  waiter 
for  bringing  it  to  you ;  you  paid  the  orchestra 
for  regaling  you  with  bad  Hungarian  czardas; 
you  paid  at  the  door  when  you  went  out,  for  your 
umbrella  or  your  cane,  which  you  were  almost 
forced  to  leave  at  the  "vestiaire."  If  you  went 
into  a  swell  restaurant  in  the  exposition  the  head- 
waiter  would  take  the  order — tip.  A  second 
waiter  would  lay  the  cover — tip.  A  third  waiter 
would  bring  the  food — tip.  The  sommelier  would 
take  the  wine  order — tip.  And  again  on  going 
out  you  were  forced  to  give  up  a  check  for  your 
wrap  or  your  umbrella — tip. 

These  were  the  authorized  beggars.  Once  out- 
side the  cafes  and  theatre  doors,  you  found  the 
irregular  beggars.  You  could  not  speak  to  an 
attendant  or  ask  your  way  without  being  impor- 
tuned for  alms.  The  Paris  Exposition  was  in- 
deed a.  mighty  Beggars'  Fair. 


s   A  '^-^'-'-'lai' 


*'  The  Saintc-Chapelle,  in  Paris' 


OF   EATING   AND    DRINKING 

AMONG  the  many  legends  told  of  authors 
^  and  publishers  there  is  an  ancient  one  con- 
cerning punctuation.  It  is  the  story  of  the 
author  who  grew  so  exasperated  at  the  printers' 
persistent  refusal  to  insert  his  needless  commas 
and  superfluous  semicolons  that  he  placed  a 
chapter  at  the  end  of  his  book,  telling  the  reader 
to  pick  and  choose  therefrom,  and  punctuate  the 
volume  to  suit  himself  This  chapter  consisted 
entirely  of  commas,  colons,  semicolons,  interro- 
gation points,  dots,  and  dashes. 

Correspondingly,  I  determined  to  place  in  a 
chapter  by  itself  the  various  passages  about  eating 
and  drinking  which  seem  inseparable  from  any 
talk  about  travel.  Thus  he  who  does  not  care  to 
eat  may  skip,  while  he  who  eats  may  read. 

Most  Americans  going  abroad  have  to  pass 
through  New  York.  Therefore  its  hotels  are 
well-known — too  well-known  to  make  necessary 
any    extended   reference  to    them  here.     I  may 

309 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

say  briefly  that  its  best  hotels  are  surpassed  by 
none  of  which  I  have  any  knowledge.  The 
first-class  hotels,  while  high-priced,  give  you  the 
worth  of  your  money.  In  the  cold  season  they 
are  heated;  in  summer  electric  fans  and  pumps 
force  artificially  cooled  air  into  the  buildings;  the 
windows  are  canopied  ;  the  bath-rooms  are  good ; 
there  is  hot  water  night  and  day;  the  plumbing 
is  modern ;  there  are  mail  chutes,  telephones,  and 
telesemes;  they  are  well  ventilated;  there  are 
numerous  swift  elevators ;  the  service  is  good ; 
there  is  plenty  of  clean  ice,  made  from  distilled 
water;  cold  things  are  served  cold,  and  hot  things 
hot — ^in  short,  the  restaurants  are  admirable. 
Neither  London  nor  Paris  compares  with  New 
York  in  hotels.  As  for  restaurants,  Paris  has 
fine  ones,  but  I  think  New  York's  two  leading 
restaurants  are  as  good  as  any  in  the  world.  The 
less  pretentious  hotels  and  restaurants  are  also 
good,  and  there  are  prices  for  all  purses.  Still, 
New  York  is  at  best  an  expensive  city. 

While  the  New  York  hotels  give  you  high 
living  for  high  prices,  it  is  not  so  with  all  Ameri- 
can hotels.  Some  of  the  big  watering-place 
hotels  are  very  poor.  For  some  reason,  Ameri- 
cans seem  resigned  to  bad  service  at  summer 
hotels.     But  it  would  seem  to  be  no   better  at 

3IO 


'»'•  rmm 

UNIVERSITT 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

the  great  winter  resorts.  For  in  winter  many 
thousands  of  Northerners  seek  the  great  hotels 
of  the  southern  coast,  from  St.  Augustine  to 
New  Orleans. 

Three  of  the  Florida  hotels,  the  Ponce  de 
Leon,  the  Alcazar,  and  the  Cordova,  are  very- 
beautiful  buildings.  They  are  all  in  the  Hispano- 
Mauresque  style  of  architecture,  with  which  we 
in  CaHfornia  are  familiar  through  our  old  Spanish 
Mission  buildings  and  their  modern  prototypes, 
as  seen  at  Palo  Alto.  But  our  colonial  Spanish 
architecture  in  California  was  from  the  crude 
plans  of  the  Spanish  friars,  wrought  into  shape 
by  the  clumsy  hands  of  their  Indian  neophytes. 
It  has  an  air  of  strength  and  solidity  rather  than 
of  grace.  In  the  Spanish  buildings  of  St.  Augus- 
tine the  architects  have  succeeded  in  wedding  the 
grace  of  the  Moorish  with  the  strength  of  the 
Spanish  school.  The  Ponce  de  Leon  is  a  stately 
pile,  with  many  minaret-like  towers,  domes,  and 
chimneys  rising  from  its  red-tiled  roof  It  has 
a  large  patio,  or  courtyard,  with  a  noble  gateway. 
The  Alcazar  facade  is  distinguished  by  the  two 
square  bell-towers,  familiar  to  us  in  our  California 
Mission  buildings.  The  Cordova  has  both  round 
and  square  towers,  and  is  a  marvel  of  elaborate 
Mauresque  ornamentation. 

311 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

These  hotels  are  built  of  a  concrete  made  of 
fossil  shells  found  in  vast  quantities  around 
St.  Augustine.  The  Spaniards  used  for  building 
purposes  a  stone  called  "  coquina,"  formed  of 
these  same  fossil  shells,  which  the  ages  had 
molded  into  a  kind  of  natural  concrete.  Some 
of  the  old  Spanish  buildings  in  St.  Augustine 
were  built  of  this  coquina  stone.  The  concrete 
used  in  these  hotels  resembles  it  in  a  measure, 
and  is  the  most  architecturally  effective  artificial 
stone  I  have  ever  seen.  It  is  a  delicate  bluish- 
gray  in  color,  and  it  fits  into  the  tints  of  sky  and 
sea  and  sandy  soil  most  admirably.  The  cool, 
gray  walls  and  rich,  red-tiled  roofs  together  pro- 
duce an  effect  which  is  most  grateful  to  the  eye. 
How  different  from  the  great,  staring,  wooden 
caravansaries  of  the  United  States  generally! 
Their  sole  redeeming  point  is  that  they  often 
burn  down.  But  the  Ponce  de  Leon  cannot 
burn  down.  It  is  almost  a  monolith.  Its  walls 
are  solid  rock. 

I  wish  I  could  speak  as  highly  of  the  running 
of  these  Florida  hotels  as  of  their  architecture. 
But  I  can  not.  They  are  expensive  and  preten- 
tious. The  servants  are  ignorant  negroes.  The 
service  is  inefficient.  The  food  is  often  not  good, 
and  when  it  is  good  it  is  badly  cooked,  and  when 

312 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

it  is  properly  cooked  it  is  served  cold.  The  Ponce 
de  Leon  used  to  advertise  that  its  chef  was  "late 
of  the  Brunswick  and  formerly  of  Delmonico's." 
This  was  doubtless  true.  But  were  the  immortal 
Chef  Joseph  himself  to  cook  at  the  Ponce,  what 
would  it  avail  him  if  his  most  admirable  flats  were 
served  cold  ?  To  dine  at  the  Ponce  means  to  sit 
down  in  a  gorgeous  rotunda  with  a  domed  ceil- 
ing ;  to  have  beautiful  mural  decorations  and 
stained -glass  windows  confronting  you ;  to  see 
the  Spanish- Mauresque  plan  of  the  architects 
wrought  out  in  a  hundred  cunning  ways ;  to  read 
punning  Spanish  proverbs  in  gilded  Runic  letters 
upon  ceiling  and  walls ;  to  see  the  coats  of  arms 
of  Ponce  de  Leon  and  other  Spanish  explorers 
faithfully  reproduced  by  skilled  artificers ;  to  note 
the  escutcheons  of  ancient  Spanish  cities  like  To- 
ledo and  Valladolid  interwoven  with  the  mural 
decorations  ;  to  hear  a  fine  stringed  band  discours- 
ing sweet  music  for  an  hour — and  to  have  cold 
soup,  cold  fish,  cold  entrees,  cold  joint,  and  cold 
vegetables  brought  to  you  upon  cold  plates  by 
a  thick-skulled,  prognathous-jawed  African  who 
used  to  be  a  cotton-steamer  roustabout. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  poor  service  in  these  fine 
hotels.  The  people  who  go  there  are  well-to-do 
— necessarily  so,  as  the  prices  are  not  low.    Why 

313 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

they  should  pay  high  prices  for  poor  service  by 
clumsy  negroes  I  can  not  comprehend.  It  does 
not  require  a  great  intellect  to  be  a  waiter,  but  it 
is  too  much  for  the  African. 

Why  do  the  Northern  people  at  these  Flor- 
ida hotels  tolerate  these  wretched  darkies  ?  The 
race  is  unfit  for  any  duty  requiring  attentiveness, 
which  is  the  chief  requisite  in  a  house-servant.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  are  so  fantastic,  and  so  self- 
conscious  that  they  are  continually  posing  and  pea- 
cocking for  the  benefit  of  the  hotel  guests  and 
themselves.  There  is  always  in  the  forefront  of 
the  mob  of  waiters  a  head-waiter,  who  has  all  the 
characteristics  of  a  drum-major,  without  being 
as  useful.  So  vainglorious  is  the  race  that  if  you 
request  the  head-waiter  to  have  something  done 
he  will  imperatively  order  his  assistant  to  do  it, 
who  will  order  a  waiter  to  do  it,  who  will  order  a 
waiter*s  waiter  to  do  it,  who  will  order  a  scullion 
to  do  it,  who  will  probably  leave  it  undone. 
And  all  of  these  African  freaks  order  one  another 
around  in  tones  of  command  which  would  be 
amusing  to  any  one  but  a  hungry  man  waiting 
for  his  dinner.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  crash 
and  clatter  of  plates,  of  heavily  shod  waiters' 
hoofs  upon  the  sounding  floors,  of  crockery  fall- 
ing from  waiters*  bungling  fingers,  and  of  orders 

314 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

yelled  to  the  cooks  from  the  closing  kitchen-door, 
there  rises  the  sound  of  inter- African  conversation. 
As  they  meet  they  exchange  scraps  of  gossip, 
kitchen  jests,  reminiscences  of  the  night  before, 
and  the  unfortunate  guests  must  perforce  eat  their 
dinners  to  an  obligato  of  gabbling  darkies — some- 
times of  squabbling  darkies.  And  all  this  in 
high-priced,  pretentious  hotels.  Doctors  say  that 
conversation  at  table  aids  digestion.  But  I  greatly 
prefer  silence  to  Senegambian  conversaziones. 

The  Florida  hotels  are  dear  and  bad.  They 
are  all  on  the  tahle-d'hote  plan,  and  all  of  the 
large  hotels  have  practically  a  minimum  rate  of 
six  dollars  a  day  for  room  and  board.  This  at 
the  Ponce  gives  you  a  small  room  without  a 
bath.  For  a  small  room  with  a  bath  they  charge 
the  modest  sum  of  ten  dollars  a  day,  and  from 
that  up  to  fifteen  and  twenty  dollars  a  day.  It 
is  to  the  Ponce  de  Leon  that  the  old  jest  can  be 
best  applied.  A  visitor  there  ruefully  remarked 
that  he  had  been  sent  to  Florida  for  change  and 
rest,  but  the  landlord  got  nearly  all  his  change, 
and  the  waiters  got  the  rest. 

At  these  hotels  service  and  cookery  are  both 
poor.  Compare  their  rates  with  those  prevailing 
at  similar  resorts  in  some  good  foreign  hotels. 
Take  a  short-season  summer  hotel — the  Schwei- 

315 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

zerhof  at  Lucerne,  for  example.  It  is  a  handsome 
building  with  lifts,  electric-lighting,  and  all  con- 
veniences, an  excellent  restaurant,  both  table 
d'hote  and  a  la  carte,  and  admirably  kept.  The 
minimum  rates  there  are  about  as  follows: 

Room 6  francs 

Light 50  centimes 

Bath .   I  franc 

Attendance i  franc 

Breakfast 2  francs 

Meat  breakfast  or  dejeuner    .  5  francs 

Dinner 7  francs 

Total 22  francs  50  centimes 

This  is  about  four  dollars  and  twenty-seven 
cents — say  one-third  less  than  the  Florida  hotels. 
Take  another:  The  leading  hotel  of  San  Remo, 
a  short-season  winter  resort,  is  the  Hotel  d'An- 
gleterre.  The  minimum  rates  there  are  about 
as  follows: 

Room 6 

Bath I 

Light %  li 

Attendance i       li 

Breakfast lyi 

Meat  breakfast  or  dejeuner 3/4  ^^ 

Dinner 6 


Total i()}4  1 

316 


re 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

This  is  about  three  dollars  and  sixty  cents — a 
little  more  than  half  the  cost  of  the  Florida 
hotel.  Or  take  another  winter  resort  where  the 
season  is  shorter  than  at  San  Remo,  or  any  point 
on  the  Riviera.  Let  us  select  one  in  Egypt, 
where  living  is  universally  admitted  to  be  very 
expensive.  At  Shepheard*s  Hotel,  in  Cairo,  the 
minimum  prices  are  about  as  follows: 

Room  .   .   .  ; 40  piastres 

Light 3  piastres 

Bath 5  piastres 

Breakfast 10  piastres 

Luncheon 20  piastres 

Dinner 30  piastres 

Total 108  piastres 

This  is  about  five  dollars  and  forty  cents  — 
again  less  than  the  tariff  of  the  Florida  hotel. 
Yet  no  one  can  deny  that  the  Cairo  hotels  are 
the  most  luxurious  in  the  world. 

I  expressly  refrain  from  comparing  the  rates  at 
these  Florida  hotels  with  those  in  large  cities. 
In  small  resorts  like  St.  Augustine  there  is 
merely  a  nominal  charge  for  ground -rent  or 
interest  on  value  of  land.  This  item  is  a  large 
one  in  New  York,  Paris,  and  London.  Hence 
the  comparisons  are  confined  to  similar  resorts. 


317 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Some  years  ago  there  appeared  in  Paris  a  very- 
clever  and  amusing  book  by  Edouard  Laboulaye, 
entitled  "  Paris  en  Amerique."  Laboulaye  was 
one  of  the  few  French  writers  who  knew  his 
America  well.  As  a  result,  his  book  was  bright 
and  witty,  and  free  from  those  astounding  blun- 
ders with  which  the  traveled  Gaul  usually  span- 
gles his  pages.  Laboulaye*s  book  is  a  whimsical 
fantasy,  and  he  touches  upon  but  does  not  seri- 
ously discuss  France's  sometime  sovereignty  on 
this  continent.  How  little  trace  her  civilization 
has  left !  All  of  Canada  once  was  French ; 
French  trappers  and  French  missionaries  ex- 
plored around  the  Great  Lakes  what  is  now  our 
Middle-West;  France  owned  the  vast  territory 
which  came  to  us  from  Bonaparte  under  the 
name  of  the  Louisiana  Purchase.  Yet  of  the 
French  occupancy  scarcely  a  sign  remains.  A  few 
French  names  like  Detroit,  Des  Moines,  and 
Terre  Haute,  so  changed  in  pronunciation  that 
a  Frenchman  would  not  know  them,  are  about 
all  that  are  left  in  the  great  Mississippi  Valley. 
Quebec  is  probably  the  most  Gallic  city  on  the 
continent  —  you  can  find  there  cabmen  who 
speak  no  English  —  but  Montreal  is  fast  losing 
the  traces  of  its  French  ancestry.  There  are 
French  newspapers  in  Canada,  it  is  true,  but  so 

318 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

are  there  in  New  York;  so  are  there  in  San 
Francisco  —  at  one  time  there  were  three ;  and 
so  are  there  in  New  Orleans. 

A  recent  visit  to  this  latter  city  made  patent  to 
my  mind  the  evanescence  of  French  civilization  on 
this  continent.  It  is  about  ten  years  since  I  was 
last  in  the  Crescent  City.  Even  in  that  time  the 
changes  in  the  French  quarter  have  been  great. 
Then  French  signs  were  over  nearly  all  the  shops. 
The  shop-keepers  all  spoke  French,  and  some 
few  of  them  spoke  no  English.  In  the  quarter, 
French  was  spoken  around  you  on  every  hand. 
Now  the  French  signs  are  in  the  minority,  the 
shop-keepers  all  speak  English,  and  of  the  old 
French  quarter  nothing  remains  but  the  smells. 

New  Orleans  once  was  famous  for  its  French 
restaurants.  Even  these  are  changed.  Ten  years 
ago  there  were  several  excellent  ones.  The  two 
leading  ones  were  Moreau's,  on  Canal  Street,  and 
Antoine's,  in  the  French  quarter.  I  still  have  a 
tender  recollection  of  certain  repasts  at  Moreau^s 
wherein  figured  Bayou  Cook  oysters,  gumbo, 
red-snapper,  and  canvasback,  washed  down  with 
wine,  not  of  the  country,  but  of  the  Golden  Hill. 
Alas,  like  the  tender  recollections  of  Miss  Irene 
McGillicuddy,  these  are  but  recollections  now. 
A  colored  fellow-citizen  informed  me,  as  I  sought 

3^9 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

for  it  on  Canal  Street,  "  Moreau  has  went  out  of 
business,  sah." 

Moreau*s  in  its  time  was  not  unlike  the  San 
Francisco  restaurant  known  as  Marchand's — the 
old  Marchand's,  not  the  new.  Moreau ^s  was 
very  unpretentious  in  its  service,  its  napery,  its 
china,  glass,  and  silver — if  it  ever  had  any  silver. 
There  were  no  carpets  in  the  main  dining-room ; 
there  was  only  sand  upon  the  floor.  But  the 
cookery  was  something  to  remember.  So  was  it 
with  the  old  Marchand's.  Marchand  was  once 
chef  at  the  old  Union  Club  of  San  Francisco. 
He  left  there  to  start  a  rotisserie — for  in  the  olden, 
golden  days  of  San  Francisco's  French  restau- 
rants they  were  not  mere  restaurants,  they  were 
r  Otis  series.  No  dark  mysteries  were  concocted 
in  back  kitchens.  The  recondite  croquettes  and 
doubtful  salmis  which  come  up  from  the  dank 
cellar-kitchens  of  so  many  Paris  restaurants  were 
unknown  in  the  San  Francisco  rotisseries.  The 
kitchen  of  the  rotisserie  was  in  front,  and  you 
passed  through  batteries  of  ranges,  rows  of 
shining  copper  saucepans,  and  files  of  white- 
capped  cooks  to  reach  your  table.  Upon  the 
ranges  seethed  and  simmered  delicious  ragouts. 
There  was  one  plat  in  the  old  Marchand  days 
that  took  forty-eight  hours  to  cook.     It  gently 

320 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

simmered  in  a  stone  jar  at  the  back  of  the  range, 
and  was  served  only  twice  a  week.  It  was  prob- 
ably Tripes  in  the  mode  of  Caen.  But  it  may 
have  been  another  dish  resembhng  it,  the  sub- 
stratum of  which  was  calves'  head  melting  in  a 
rich  jelly  —  a  dish  peculiar  to  the  Provencal 
regions  of  France. 

Speaking  of  that,  in  one  of  the  old  San  Fran- 
cisco French  restaurants  there  used  to  be  a  chef 
who  was  a  genuine  Marseillais,  who  hailed  from 
the  Cannebiere,  and  who  cooked  a  bouillabaisse 
which  made  salt  tears  from  the  eyes  of  expatri- 
ated Gascons  fall  into  their  soup-plates. 

But  I  digress.  Passing  through  the  rows  of 
shining  copper  saucepans  and  shining  copper- 
nosed  cooks,  one  passed  also  the  roti^  for  at  the 
rotisseries  they  used  to  roast.  Before  open  fires 
on  spits  there  slowly  revolved  sirloins  of  beef, 
saddles  of  mutton,  browning  turkeys,  celery-fed 
canvasbacks.  Now  the  noble  art  of  roasting  is 
gone,  and  baked  meats  indifferently  furnish  forth 
our  tables. 

To  the  epicure  there  is  a  vast  difference  be- 
tween the  savor  of  meat  and  game  which  has 
been  roasted  and  that  which  has  been  baked.  In 
the  old  Union  Club  of  San  Francisco  after  the 
spit  had  ceased  to  turn,  the  writer  once  made  this 

V  321 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

assertion,  and  it  was  questioned.  A  dinner  was 
wagered,  and  to  settle  the  matter  a  dozen  ducks 
were  served,  six  cooked  on  a  spit  and  six  cooked 
in  an  oven.  The  doubters  admitted  at  once  the 
superiority  of  roasting  to  baking.  Probably  it 
was  the  last  time  that  the  spit  revolved  in  the 
Union  Club  kitchen. 

But  to  return  to  New  Orleans  and  its  changes. 
Ten  years  ago  there  were  two  leading  hotels 
there — the  St.  Charles  and  the  Hotel  Royal. 
The  St.  Charles  was  then  in  an  old  public  build- 
ing, with  a  gigantic  marble  colonnade  extending 
along  its  front.  The  story  ran  that  it  was  once 
a  slave  market.  But  that  is  a  familiar  story  in 
the  South.  The  St.  Charles  in  those  days  was 
as  uncomfortable  as  a  hotel  in  an  old  public 
building  could  be.  The  new  St.  Charles  is  a 
handsome  seven-story  brick  building,  with  all  the 
modern  hotel  conveniences,  with  the  exception 
of  food  well  cooked  and  served.  The  cuisine  is 
not  distinctly  bad,  but  neither  is  it  distinctly 
good.  It  is  just  the  regulation  hotel  fare.  No 
trace  of  the  old  French  cookery  for  which  New 
Orleans  was  once  renowned  is  to  be  found  at  the 
St.  Charles.  Perhaps  it  never  was  to  be  found 
there. 

Ten  years  ago  the  Hotel  Royal  was  a  rival  of 
322 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

the  St.  Charles.  Now,  apparently,  it  is  closed  — 
or  I  heard  nothing  of  it.  I  was  once  surprised 
to  find  in  the  Hotel  Royal  an  elaborately  fres- 
coed ceiling,  said  to  be  from  the  brush  of 
Canova,  the  Italian  sculptor,  executed  in  the 
early  part  of  the  present  century.  It  seems  odd 
that  Canova  should  have  been  forced  to  decorate 
hotel  ceilings  for  a  livelihood  —  the  famous 
Canova  who  modeled  the  recumbent  Venus  in 
the  Borghese  Palace  at  Rome,  for  which  nude 
study  the  beautiful  Pauline  Bonaparte  posed. 
It  is  related  that  an  acid  dowager,  on  seeing 
the  lovely  marble,  prinlly  remarked  to  the  prin- 
cess :  "  Your  highness,  how  could  you  ever  have 
posed  in  that  condition  ?  "  "  Why  not  ? "  asked 
Pauline,  in  surprise;  "there  was  a  fire  in  the 
room." 

Not  far  from  the  Hotel  Royal,  in  the  French 
quarter,  stood  Antoine's.  Ten  years  ago  it  was 
an  excellent  French  restaurant.  There  was  no 
style  about  it,  it  is  true — the  table  service  was 
coarse,  but  clean,  and  the  floor,  like  Moreau's, 
was  sanded.  But  the  food  was  excellent.  There 
was  a  most  appetizing  mixture  of  French  with 
what  I  may  call  "Creole  cookery,"  for  lack  of  a 
better  phrase — various  kinds  of  gumbos  unknown 
in  the  colder  climes  of  the  North,  where  we  have 

323 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

only   a   base   mucilaginous  imitation    known  as 
"  chicken  gumbo." 

Let  not  the  term  "Creole"  be  misunderstood. 
Many  people  fancy  that  the  word  has  something 
to  do  with  negro  blood.  Error.  "  Creole " 
comes  from  the  Spanish  word  Criolla^  "child." 
The  Creoles  claim  descent  from  the  children  of 
the  original  French  and  Spanish  colonists.  It  is 
true  that  there  were  so-called  "Creole  negroes," 
but  they  were  slaves  of  the  old  Creole  families, 
and  the  epithet  was  used  in  the  same  sense  as 
" Creole  chickens,"  "Creole  coffee,"  or  "Creole 
cookery." 

But  the  glory  has  departed  from  Antoine's. 
It  is  a  fairly  good  restaurant  —  things  are  not 
bad  —  but  its  cookery  has  lost  its  distinctive 
flavor.  There  is  no  longer  anything  Gallic 
about  it.     It  is  just  like  any  other  restaurant. 

Other  French  restaurants  in  New  Orleans  make 
pretensions  to  being  first-class,  but  they  are  base- 
less. Cookery  and  service  are  both  bad.  They 
would  not  rank  in  San  Francisco  with  the  third- 
class  gargotes  found  in  the  Latin  quarter,  which 
give  a  dinner  of  six  courses,  wine  included,  for 
twenty-five  cents.  At  most  of  them,  things  are 
cold,  flabby,  sloppy — sloppy,  flabby,  and  cold. 
In  fact,  everything  is  cold  but  the  ice. 

324 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  New  Orleans  the 
prices  have  apparently  risen  as  the  cookery  has 
deteriorated.  In  the  Crescent  City  restaurants 
prices  are  nearly  up  to  the  New  York  level, 
while  the  cookery  and  the  service  are  infinitely 
inferior. 

The  San  Francisco  French  restaurants  have 
also  greatly  changed  in  the  course  of  years.  At 
one  time  there  were  half  a  dozen  first-class  res- 
taurants or  rotisseries  there,  where  an  excellent 
meal  was  served  with  a  pint  of  red  wine  for  a 
dollar  and  a  quarter.  This  would  include  a 
choice  of  several  clear  and  thick  soups ;  a  choice 
of  any  fish  in  the  market  except  pompano — and 
even  that  before  it  became  scarce ;  a  choice  of 
several  entrees,  including  chicken  in  various 
styles ;  a  choice  of  roasts  and  game,  including 
mallard,  widgeon,  or  teal  duck  in  the  season,  and 
even  canvasback  before  it  became  so  high-priced; 
a  choice  of  two  vegetables ;  an  entremets^  such  as 
an  omelette  au  comfiture;  dessert,  fruit,  cheese, 
biscuits,  etc.,  and  black  coffee — all  for  a  dollar 
and  a  quarter.  Such  a  meal  as  this  in  New  York 
would  cost  five  times  as  much  —  though,  of 
course,  with  much  better  service.  There  were 
cheaper  French  restaurants  where  a  more  modest 
meal  was   served  for  fifty  cents  with  a  pint  of 

325 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

wine.  But  how  the  first-class  restaurants  could 
serve  such  a  meal  as  they  did  for  such  a  price 
was  a  marvel.  There  was  nothing  like  it  any- 
where. Italy  is  a  cheap  country,  but  even  in 
Italy  a  good  tahle-d^hote  dinner  will  cost  you  five 
lire — about  a  dollar — without  wine. 

Occasionally  excellent  wines  were  to  be  found 
in  some  of  the  old  French  restaurants  of  San 
Francisco.  There  was  no  particular  ostentation 
about  it.  Sometimes  the  proprietors  would  pick 
up  a  small  lot  of  Burgundy  or  Bordeaux  from 
some  out-of-the-way  place.  For  example,  there 
was  once  a  large  consignment  of  Bordeaux  in 
cases  shipped  to  a  wine  merchant  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. The  bottles  had  square  glass  stoppers 
instead  of  corks.  This  was  the  idea  of  some 
smart  person  in  the  Medoc  district.  But  his 
scheme  was  a  failure.  Only  one  stopper-key 
came  with  each  case.  If  you  lost  the  key  you 
lost  the  case,  because  you  could  not  open  the 
bottles  except  with  a  hatchet.  The  result  was 
that  no  dealers  bought  the  wine.  It  remained 
for  years  unsalable  on  the  hands  of  the  importers. 
Finally  a  prudent  French  restaurant  man  bought 
a  little  of  it  as  an  experiment,  and  some  prudent 
customers  of  his  having  tasted  it — it  was  nec- 
tar—immediately went  off  and  bought  all  the 
.    326 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

rest  Tradition  tells  us  that  when  Banker  Pioche, 
of  the  famous  pioneer  firm  of  Pioche,  Bayerque 
&  Co.,  died,  he  left  a  choice  cellar.  One  of  the 
minor  San  Francisco  restaurants  bought  up  most 
of  the  dead  gourmet's  choice  wines,  and  did  a 
thriving  business — until  the  wine  was  gone,  when 
trade  fell  off. 

For  years  there  has  been  a  grand  vin  on  sale 
in  one  of  the  San  Francisco  French  restaurants 
without  any  flourish  of  trumpets.  There  hap- 
pened to  be  a  party  dining  there  one  evening. 
The  conversation  turned  on  the  dreadful  rubbish 
that  is  sold  in  this  country  as  French  grands  vins. 
For  example,  you  can  buy  what  purports  to  be  a 
bottle  of  Chateau-Lafite  in  almost  any  Ameri- 
can hotel.  Yet  for  many  years  there  was  not  a 
bottle  of  Lafite  in  trade  channels.  The  Roths- 
childs, who  own  the  vineyard,  used  its  output  in 
making  presents  to  prince-consorts,  prime  min- 
isters, and  gentlemen-ushers  of  the  back  stairs. 
It  lubricated  the  ways  for  launching  government 
loans.  And  then  the  Rothschilds  drank  a  good 
deal  of  it  themselves.  The  family  is  large  and 
thirsty,  and  apparently  can  afford  to  drink  costly 
wines. 

One  of  the  guests  remarked  that  Chateau- 
Margaux  was  also  difficult  to  obtain  with  its  title 

327 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

clear.  Another  guest  said  that  the  Vicomte 
Aguado,  owner  of  the  Margaux  vineyard,  had 
been  in  the  same  regiment  with  him  in  the 
French  army,  and  that  he  would  ask  Aguado  to 
ship  small  consignments  of  the  wine  direct  from 
the  vineyard  to  this  restaurant.  So  said,  so  done. 
Aguado  complied.  The  wine  used  to  be  sold 
there  at  five  dollars  the  quart.  Doubtless  many 
a  bookmaker,  drinking  his  noisy  pint  of  cham- 
pagne with  all  its  pomp  and  circumstance  of 
effervescence,  cracked  ice,  and  wine-cooler,  looked 
with  ill-concealed  disdain  on  the  quiet  persons 
near  him  drinking  "red  ink"  out  of  a  bottle 
without  any  label.  For  the  Margaux  bottles 
bore  no  ticket,  and  were  marked  only  by  the 
arms  of  Aguado  sealed  upon  the  cork. 

The  leading  French  restaurants  of  San  Fran- 
cisco are  now  much  better  housed  than  they  were 
ten  years  ago.  But  while  their  equipments  and 
appointments  are  superior,  their  cuisine  has  not 
improved.  Like  that  of  New  Orleans,  it  has 
deteriorated.  At  one  time  the  French  restaurants 
of  San  Francisco  and  New  Orleans  were  famous 
throughout  the  United  States  for  their  cookery. 
But  now  they  have  taken  second  place,  and  are 
surpassed  by  some  club  and  hotel  restaurants. 


328 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

To  those  who  know  Washington  as  it  was  years 
ago,  it  must  seem  extraordinary  how  the  old  hotels 
ever  could  have  accommodated  the  crowds.  Even 
in  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years  numerous  modern 
hotels  have  been  erected — lofty  and  spacious 
buildings  like  the  Shoreham,  the  Raleigh,  and 
others.  I  do  not  suppose  the  population  of 
Washington  has  increased  more  than  thirty  per 
cent,  since 'Grover  Cleveland's  first  term,  but  the 
hotels — of  all  kinds — have  increased  about  a 
hundred  per  cent.,  and  yet  in  the  season  they  all 
seem  to  be  full.  In  December,  when  Congress 
is  in  session,  it  is  difficult  to  get  even  an  inferior 
room  at  any  of  the  leading  hotels,  and  people  are 
turned  away.  1 

In  the  old  days  people  went  to  ancient  hotels 
like  the  Ebbitt,  the  Arlington,/ and  others  of  that 
ilk ;  they  ate  dinner  in  the/middle  of  the  day, 
and  supper  in  the  evening ;  they  partook  uncom- 
plainingly of  poor  food  badly  cooked  and  served 
on  the  American  plan.  The  one  oasis  in  the 
desert  of  Washington's  bad  cookery  was  John 
Chamberlin's.  There  you  could  get  something 
decent  to  eat,  although  the  charges  were  not  mod- 
erate. I  still  remember  an  immodest  bill  for  a 
very  modest  breakfast  there : 


329 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Boiled  salt  mackerel One  dollar 

Cup  of  coffee Thirty  cents 

Pot  of  cream Ten  cents 

Baked  potato Ten  cents 

I  stood  all  the  rest,  but  my  gorge  rose  at  the 
price  of  the  potato.  I  protested,  and  the  negro 
head-waiter  at  once  reduced  the  charge.  Cham- 
berlin  must  have  had  a  sliding  scale.  I  never 
saw  any  prices  on  the  bill  of  fare  there  then. 
In  that  respect  it  was  like  those  swell  cafes  in 
Paris,  such  as  the  Lion  d'Or,  where  it  is  consid- 
ered unseemly  to  put  prices  on  the  bill,  and 
vulgar  for  the  guests  to  ask  them.  However, 
Chamberlin*s  was  very  good,  even  if  it  was  high- 
priced.  The  difference  between  it  and  some  of 
the  modern  Washington  hotels  is  that  they  are 
high-priced  and  not  good. 

The  restaurants  of  Washington  are  also  poor. 
But  that  is  inevitable  where  the  servants  are 
negroes.  The  Southern  tradition  of  the  "  ole 
mammy"  and  the  "  ole  uncle "  dies  hard.  If 
you  follow  up  the  "  ole  mammy  cook  "  through 
the  South,  you  never  find  her.  She  is  like  the 
place  where  the  meteor  fell  —  always  in  the  next 
county. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  white  cooks  and  wait- 
ers in  Washington  —  plenty  of  them.     But  the 

330 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

slipshod  traditions  and  methods  of  negro  service 
have  affected  them.  The  trail  of  the  African 
is  over  them  all.  I  confess  freely  that  I  do  not 
like  the  "ole  mammy"  zone  of  the  United  States 
from  a  gastronomic  point  of  view. 

In  the  older  Washington  hotels  I  have  seen 
strangers  appearing  in  the  dining-room  at  seven 
o'clock,  in  conventional  dinner  dress,  seating 
themselves  with  unaffected  wonder  at  tables  cov- 
ered with  red  damask,  and  gazing  in  amazement 
at  the  curious  viands  which  used  to  make  up  a 
Washington  supper  —  among  them  hot  biscuits 
and  preserves. 


In  Paris  many  of  the  restaurants  are  stuffy  and 
unventilated,  and  all  of  the  kitchens  are  in  the 
cellar.  In  London  the  restaurants  are  even 
stuffier  and  less  ventilated,  and  in  many  of  them 
the  restaurant  itself  is  in  the  cellar,  as  well  as  the 
kitchen.  But  in  London  several  of  the  most 
popular  play-houses  are  far  below  the  level  of  the 
street.  The  new  grill-room  of  the  Grand  Hotel 
is  down  in  the  cellar.  It  is  not  one  of  the  most 
luxurious  of  London  eating-houses,  but  it  is  a 
much  frequented  place  in  the  heart  of  the  West 
End.     Few  of  the  restaurants  of  London,  by  the 

331 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

way,  compare  with  those  of  New  York  and  Paris. 
In  fact,  I  may  say  none.  The  restaurants  of  the 
Hotel  Cecil  and  Hotel  Savoy  are  only  fair.  The 
Berkeley,  which  was  a  rather  good  restaurant  some 
years  ago,  is  now  fashionable  and  bad ;  they  give 
you  a  great  deal  of  silverware,  brass  candelabra, 
wax  candles  with  pink  petticoats  on  them,  and 
very  poor  food.  Probably  the  best  restaurant  in 
London  is  the  one  called  the  "Prince's  Restau- 
rant." It  is  admirably  appointed,  and  richly 
furnished  in  a  dark  style  like  the  old  Delmonico's. 
One  side  and  one  end  look  out  on  a  pretty  gar- 
den ;  there  are  potted  plants  ranged  round  the 
room,  and  there  is  a  gallery  at  one  end  for  musi- 
cians. It  has  an  excellent  maitre  d'hotely  and 
good  waiters,  but  the  food  is  mediocre.  That 
seems  to  be  the  trouble  with  London  restaurants. 
What  they  lack  reminds  one  of  that  old  story  of 
Texas.  A  native  was  praising  that  State  to  Gen- 
eral Sherman,  who  did  not  think  much  of  it. 
"But,"  said  the  Texan,  "all  that  Texas  lacks  is 
water  and  good  society."  "  Yes,"  replied  Gen- 
eral Sherman,  "that  is  all  hell  lacks."  All  that 
the  London  restaurants  lack  is  good  food,  good 
cookery,  and  good  service  to  be  first-class. 

Prince's  restaurant,  however,  is  one  of  the  few 
places  in  London  where  one  can  be  well  served. 

332 


OF   EATING   AND    DRINKING 

The  waiters  are  excellent.  The  mattre  d' hotel 
speaks  to  them  in  German,  they  reply  in  French, 
and  converse  with  one  another  in  Italian.  From 
this  I  infer  that  they  are  Swiss,  and  probably  came 
from  the  Canton  of  Ticino.  The  late  George 
Augustus  Sala  some  years  ago  told  an  anecdote 
at  a  dinner  given  to  him  by  the  Bohemian  Club 
of  San  Francisco.  Talking  of  polyglot  people, 
Sala  said  that  he  once  fell  into  conversation  with 
a  gentleman  in  a  Russian  railway  carriage.  The 
stranger  spoke  Russian  with  a  German  accent; 
so  Sala  changed  to  German.  The  stranger's 
German  had  a  French  accent;  so  Sala  changed 
to  French.  The  stranger's  French,  like  that  of 
Chaucer's  Abbess,  had  such  a  strong  English 
accent,  that  Sala  began  talking  English.  The 
stranger's  English  was  tinged  with  a  strong  Irish 
brogue.  Sala's  vis-a-vis  turned  out  to  be  an 
Irishman.  The  story  was  not  new  when  Sala 
told  it,  and  had  been  told  by  another  writer  as 
having  happened  to  his  hero.  But  probably  Sala 
had  told  it  so  often  that  he  had  come  to  believe 
it  had  happened  to  him. 

The  London  hotels,  unlike  those  in  New  York, 
make  no  provision  for  hot  weather.  In  mid- 
summer they  are  like  ovens.  The  Cecil  is  on 
the   Thames   Embankment;  it  runs  through  to 

333 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  Strand ;  it  has  a  large  court-yard ;  the  Em- 
bankment Gardens  are  at  its  river  portal.;  from 
its  windows  there  are  magnificent  views ;  one  sees 
Westminster  Abbey,  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
St.  PauFs  Cathedral,  St.  Martin's  in  the  Fields, 
Westminster,  Waterloo,  London,  and  the  Tower 
Bridges,  the  Tower,  Lambeth  Palace,  and  the 
whole  sweep  of  the  Surrey  side  of  the  river.  But 
despite  its  admirable  site,  its  arrangements  for 
comfort  during  the  heated  term  are  rudimentary. 
The  ends  of  the  passages,  hallways,  and  corridors, 
instead  of  being  open  to  the  outer  air,  are  stopped 
up  with  servants'  rooms,  housemaids'  closets, 
and  such  offices,  so  that  there  is  no  ventilation. 
In  the  interior  of  the  .great  building  the  air  is 
stagnant  and  stifling.  Compare  this  with  the 
airy,  well-ventilated  condition  of  the  great  hotels 
in  New  York.  Yet  the  Cecil  is  one  of  the  newest 
hotels  in  London.  It  claims  to  be  the  most 
luxurious  there.  Claridge's,  however,  is  more 
fashionable  and  higher-priced. 

If  the  atmospheric  conditions  are  so  bad  in 
these  new  London  hotels,  what  must  they  be  in 
the  old  ones  ?  For  there  are  a  number  of  ante- 
diluvian hotels  in  London  in  such  aristocratic 
quarters  as  Jermyn,  Dover,  and  Albemarle 
Streets.     They  are  most  of  them  like   Brown's 

334 


OF   EATING   AND    DRINKING 

Hotel  —  old  dwelling-houses  remodeled.  They 
are  venerable  rattletraps,  sometimes  consisting  of 
two  or  three  houses,  with  the  floors  on  different 
levels,  and  with  holes  cut  through  the  walls  for 
doors.  There  are  no  lobbies,  no  offices,  no 
waiting-rooms,  no  reception-rooms,  no  billiard- 
rooms  —  nothing  except  narrow  passageways, 
through  which  flit  flabby-faced  lackeys,  clad  in 
shabby  evening  -  suits.  These  estabhshments 
have  brought  discomfort  to  its  highest  point. 
They  are  frequented  by  country  gentlemen, 
ruddy-faced  squires,  who  go  there  because  their 
grandfathers  did,  and  know  of  no  other  hotels. 
Some  of  our  deluded  American  anglomaniacs  go 
there  because  they  think  it  is  swell.  The  act 
carries  its  own  punishment. 

Here  is  a  trifle  showing  the  ways  of  a  first- 
class  hotel  in  London.  At  the  Cecil,  one  swel- 
tering midsummer  afternoon,  I  ordered  a  glass 
of  iced  milk ;  when  brought  I  found  that  it  was 
sour,  and  told  the  waiter  so. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter,  apologet- 
ically, "but  the  milk  is  all  that  way.  Several 
other  gentlemen  'ave  complained  already,  sir. 
You  'ad  better  take  'ot  milk,  sir." 

"Hot  milk,"  I  cried — "hot  milk  on  a  day 
like  this?" 

335 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

"The  *ot  milk,"  replied  the  waiter,  "'ave  been 
a-settin'  on  the  fire  all  day,  sir,  and  'ave  not  'ad 
a  chance  to  sour,  sir." 

So  economical  was  this  hotel  of  its  ice,  that 
the  insufficient  milk  supply  had  to  be  kept  on 
the  fire  to  prevent  it  from  turning  sour ! 

The  London  idea  of  ice  is  peculiar.  In  some 
of  the  tea-rooms  and  places  of  that  description, 
if  you  want  a  drink  of  ice-water,  they  charge 
you  three  half-pence  for  the  ice.  Their  economy 
in  ice  does  not  extend  merely  to  milk.  Several 
times  I  had  meat  served  to  me  in  the  condition 
which  some  people  call  "high,"  and  which  I  call 
"  tainted."  But  I  have  never  been  able  to  feed 
on  the  lower  animals  after  they  have  begun  turn- 
ing into  ptomaines. 

Talking  of  meat,  it  is  difficult  to  get  good 
beef  in  the  London  restaurants.  What  an 
American  calls  a  good  steak  it  is  impossible  to 
procure,  and  the  roast  beef  is  far  inferior  to  ours. 
Doubtless  some  may  think  me  presumptuous 
in  saying  there  is  better  beef  anywhere  than  the 
"roast  beef  of  Old  England."  Not  so.  The  "roast 
beef  of  Old  England"  is  a  myth — a  fairy  tale. 
As  Sir  Boyle  Roche  might  say,  "  They  have  n't 
any  there,  and  what  they  have  is  bad." 

There  is  a  famous  eating-house  in  London — 
336 


OF   EATING   AND    DRINKING 

Simpson's  in  the  Strand — whither  anglomaniac 
Americans  repair  for  beef.  It  is  a  not  very  clean 
place,  divided  into  boxes  like  horse-stalls,  in 
front  of  which  hang  dingy  curtains.  Upon  the 
tables  are  table-cloths,  with  maps  of  Europe  in 
cold  gravy,  and  large  leathern  bills  of  fare  fre-^ 
quently  smeared  with  butter.  You  seat  yourself 
in  one  of  these  horse-stalls,  rap  on  the  table, 
and  a  grimy  waiter  asks  "  What  will  you  please 
to  *ave,  sir  ?  "  The  awe-stricken  American  re- 
plies in  hushed  tones  that  he  will  have  some  of 
the  "  roast  beef  of  Old  England."  The  grimy 
waiter  howls  something,  and  a  rumbling  is  heard. 
Propelled  through  the  place  comes  a  table  on 
wheels,  which  stops  at  the  entrance  to  your  horse- 
stall.  Upon  it  is  a  large  and  mangled  rib-roast 
of  beef  in  a  covered  chafing-dish.  It  may  have 
been  originally  roasted,  but  has  simmered  long. 
It  is  not  inviting.  Behind  it  stands  a  person  in 
a  dirty  white  cap  and  a  dirtier  white  apron,  who 
lifts  the  cover,  hews  off  two  slabs,  dishes  you 
some  of  the  sediment,  and  rolls  his  beef  sar- 
cophagus away.  This  is  the  roast  beef  of  Old 
England  as  served  at  Simpson's  in  the  Strand. 

It  is  only  fair  to  add  that  there  are  other  choice 
viands  at  Simpson's.     You  can  also  obtain  there 
boiled    turbot,    with    the    only    English    sauce, 
w  337 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

melted  butter ;  boiled  beef,  with  vegetables ; 
boiled  salt  beef;  and  boiled  leg  of  mutton.  All 
these  delicacies  are  trundled  about  on  tables  bear- 
ing chafing-dishes,  and  when  the  lids  are  lifted  — 
which  they  often  are — a  rich  and  mingled  per- 
fume of  roast  beef,  boiled  beef,  boiled  mutton, 
and  boiled  fish  permeates  the  air.  It  is  much 
like  the  odors  which  rise  from  the  basement  of  a 
cheap  boarding-house  on  corned-beef  day. 

From  these  guarded  remarks  it  is  evident  that 
I  do  not  like  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England,  as 
served  at  Simpson's — nor,  for  that  matter,  any- 
where else  in  London.  I  look  upon  that  great 
city  as  a  gastronomic  Sahara.  There  are  only 
two  or  three  oases  in  it.  One  is  Prince's  restau- 
rant. Another  is  the  Cafe  Royal,  a  pretentious 
restaurant,  but  only  fairly  good. 


It  would  be  impossible  to  write  of  the  Paris 
hotels,  restaurants,  and  cafes  in  a  few  pages.  It 
would  take  volumes.  There  is  every  kind  of 
hotel  there,  from  the  modest  third-rate  houses  on 
back  streets  to  the  palaces  on  the  grand  boule- 
vard or  the  Champs-Elysees.  There  are  restau- 
rants where  you  can  dine  for  ten  cents,  and  there 
are  restaurants  where  they  charge  you  ten  cents 

338 


OF   EATING   Ai^ID   DRINKING 

to  sit  down;  that  is  the  first  item  on  your  bill, 
and  the  only  moderate  one.  There  are  restau- 
rants where  the  bills  of  fare  are  priceless,  and  in 
which  you  never  know  what  you  are  going  to 
pay.  There  are  the  cheap  "bouillons,"  where  there 
are  dishes  from  two  cents  up,  served  in  such 
microscopic  portions  that  you  eat  some  seven  or 
eight  courses,  pay  about  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and 
go  away  hungry.  There  are  table -d'hote  res- 
taurants at  fixed  prices,  where  you  can  gorge  like 
Gargantua  for  about  fifty  cents.  There  are  cafes 
where  you  can  get  a  cup  of  good  black  coffee 
for  five  cents,  served  by  an  attentive  waiter  who 
is  grateful  for  a  one-cent  tip;  and  there  are  cafes 
in  the  Bois  where  you  can  get  a  cup  of  bad 
black  coffee  for  twenty-five  cents,  served  to  you 
by  an  insolent  rascal  who  looks  superciliously  at 
a  ten-cent  tip. 

The  leading  Paris  restaurants  are  probably  as 
perfect  as  they  can  be  in  cookery,  appointments, 
and  service.  Their  prices  are  very  high,  and  are 
not  always  fixed.  They  are  interesting  places  to 
visit  occasionally,  as  one  sees  there  the  lions  of 
the  "tout  Paris** — the  latest  Anonyma,  the 
latest  fortunate  youth  who  is  spending  his  own 
or  his  wife's  millions,  the  latest  duelist  who  has 
just   pinked    his,  man,  the  king  who  is  visiting 

339 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Paris  incognito,  the  lady  who  is  with  the  king, 
and  who  is  visiting  Paris  incognita.  But  for  a 
steady  diet,  and  having  a  decent  regard  for  one's 
purse,  digestion,  and  morals,  there  are  better 
ordinaries  to  frequent  than  the  "grand  restau- 
rants" of  Paris. 


Hotels  and  hotel  managers  are  continually 
changing  in  Europe.  A  year-old  guide-book  is 
often  out  of  date.  Furthermore,  prices  in  Europe 
seem  to  be  slowly  on  the  up  grade.  In  1895 
the  Quirinale  Hotel  in  Rome  charged  five  francs 
for  their  table-d'hote  dinner;  they  charged  in 
1900,  six. 

The  table  d'hote  is  not  an  ideal  system.  It 
endeavors  to  give  the  number  and  variety  of 
dishes  which  will  please  the  greatest  number  and 
variety  of  people  at  a  fixed  price  and  at  a  fixed 
hour.  There  is  nearly  always  beef  or  mutton 
on  the  bill,  and  nearly  always  fowl,  so  that  if  you 
do  not  care  for  made  dishes  and  sweets  you  can 
at  least  make  out  a  dinner.  If  you  do  care  for 
made  dishes  and  sweets  you  will  find  a  plenty  at 
the  table  d'hote.  But  you  must  be  on  time. 
They  will  not  serve  you  the  table  d  'hote  at  the 
fixed  price  after  the  fixed  hour.     In  some  places 

340 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

they  charge  an  extra  franc  if  you  are  fifteen 
minutes  late.  This  marvelously  stimulates  the 
punctuality  of  the  guests.  It  is  highly  amusing 
to  watch  a  crowd  of  well-dressed  people  sprinting 
for  the  table  d'hote  at  fourteen  minutes  past 
seven  in  order  to  save  a  franc.  In  other  places 
they  charge  a-la-carte  prices  for  the  table  d^hote 
served  fifteen  minutes  past  the  hour.  By  the 
carte  the  six-franc  dinner  costs  about  sixteen 
francs,  which  produces  a  dull,  heavy  feeling  un- 
favorable to  perfect  digestion. 

The  "American  plan"  is  to  serve  a  fixed-price 
dinner,  but  not  at  a  fixed  hour.  The  result  is 
distressing.  A  dinner  ready  at  six  is  served  at 
any  time  up  to  eight.  No  dinner  could  stand 
this  test — not  even  the  best.  If  the  American 
dinner  is  good  at  six  o'clock,  it  is  bad  at  half-past 
six,  and  at  seven  it  is  awful.  It  is  odd  that  the 
American  people,  with  their  strong  good  sense, 
should  not  see  and  remedy  this  cardinal  error  in 
their  hotel  service.  In  a  good  European  hotel  a 
good  table  -  d'hote  dinner  is  served  cheaply, 
promptly,  and  well.  Everything  is  hot,  there  is 
an  abundance,  there  is  a  variety,  the  cookery  is 
good,  and  the  waiters  serve  swiftly  and  noise- 
lessly. As  a  rule,  it  takes  about  an  hour  to 
serve  a  dinner  of  seven  or  eight  courses ;    then, 

341 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

if  the  guests  desire  to  dawdle  after  their  dinner, 
there  are  "winter  gardens,"  smoking-rooms,  etc, 
provided,  where  they  can  take  their  after-dinner 
coffee  and  spend  as  much  time  as  they  please. 

I  do  not  by  any  means  consider  the  tahle- 
d'hote  dinner  an  ideal  one.  But  the  European 
plan  is  at  least  an  attempt  to  serve  it  at  its  best. 
The  American  plan  is  an  attempt  to  serve  it  at 
its  worst — and  a  successful  one.  Personally,  I 
think  the  ideal  way  to  dine  is  to  order  your  own 
dinner,  select  the  dishes,  the  manner  of  cooking, 
and  the  hour  at  which  it  shall  be  served.  But 
both  in  American  and  European  hotels  this 
method  is  expensive.  It  is  no  cheaper  in  Europe 
than  in  America,  and  in  some  places  it  is  dearer. 

The  horrors  of  undesirable  propinquity  at 
European  tables  d'hote^  the  neighborhood  of 
hairy  Germans  who  comb  their  whiskers  at  table, 
the  facing  of  garlicky  Latins  surrounded  by  an 
aureola  of  breath,  the  affliction  of  sallow  Italian 
tenors  who  warble  operatic  airs  between  the 
courses — all  these  may  be  avoided  by  having  the 
table -d^ hot e  dinner  served  at  a  separate  table. 
This  you  can  generally  have  done  for  an  extra 
charge  of  about  a  franc  per  person.  Thus  you 
not  only*  avoid  disagreeable  neighbors,  but  you 
also  get  the  first  hack  at  the  dishes.     This  privi- 

342 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

lege  is  especially  dear  to  the  veteran  table-cThote 
habitue;  with  an  automatic,  shuttle-like  move- 
ment he  can  help  himself  to  all  of  the  white  meat 
on  a  dish  of  fowl,  and  leave  nothing  for  the 
others  but  drumsticks  and  backbones. 

At  Naples  there  is  a  new  establishment,  the 
Hotel  de  Londres  —  an  excellent  one,  by  the 
way — where  they  serve  the  table-d'hote  meal  at 
separate  tables  without  extra  charge.  At  that 
hotel  the  charge  for  dinner  was  four  and  a  half 
lire — about  eighty-three  cents.  Here  is  a  speci- 
men bill  of  fare : 

Fusaro  oysters  on  the  shell. 

Consomme  Savoy. 

Mullet,  Hollandaise  sauce,  new  potatoes. 

Roast  beef,  garni  (with  garniture  of  vegetables). 

Sweetbreads  a  la  Milanaise. 

Artichokes,  Parmesan. 
Young  turkey,  a  la  Broche. 

Salad. 

Ice  Cream,  Neapolitaine. 

Plum  cake. 

Assorted  cakes  and  sweet  biscuits. 

Oranges,    apples,    pears,  figs,  dates,   nuts,  and  raisins. 

Contrasted  with  this  is  a  specimen  six-franc 
dinner ;  that  of  the  Hotel  Quirinale  at  Rome. 
The  Quirinale  is  a  first-class  hotel,  one  of  the 

343 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

best  in  Rome.  It  has  a  large  and  handsome 
tahle-d^ hote  dining-room,  in  a  gallery  of  which 
an  orchestra  plays  through  the  dinner  hour. 
The  Quirinale  has  an  excellent  restaurant,  which 
is  not  cheap.  There  is  also  a  large  "winter 
garden,"  smoking-rooms,  reading-rooms,  billiard- 
room,  and  writing -rooms  for  the  guests.  The 
table -d^hote  dinner  served  here  costs  six  lire  — 
about  one  dollar  and  eleven  cents — and  this  is 
a  specimen  bill  of  fare : 

Consomme  a  la  royale. 

Boiled  turbot,  sauce  Hollandaise,  pommes  duchesse. 

Chicken  saute,  a  la  Marengo,  cooked  with  small  ecrevisses. 

Spinach  with  ham. 

Roast  beef,  garnished  with  vegetables. 

Young  duck,  a  la  Perigord. 

Salade. 

Ice-cream,  Pistache. 

Sponge  cake. 

Oranges,  apples,  pears,  figs,  raisins,  dates,  nuts,  and 

assorted  cakes  and   sweet  biscuits. 

The  foregoing  is  a  six-franc  dinner  in  a  first- 
class  Roman  hotel.  But  Rome  is  a  much  cheaper 
city  than  the  other  capitals — Vienna,  Paris,  Ber- 
lin, or  London.  The  rates  in  the  smaller  Roman 
hotels  are  lower  than  these,  and  in  the  smaller 
Italian  cities  lower  than  those  of  Rome. 

344 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

The  Roman  cafe-rest3Mra.nts  are  cheaper  than 
the  hotel-restaurants  frequented  by  English  and 
Americans.  There  are  three  kinds  of  them.  At 
the  ristorantes  meals  are  served  at  all  hours  to 
order,  generally  with  a  fixed-price  dinner  and 
luncheon  also.  At  the  caffes  wines,  liqueurs, 
malt  liquors,  tea,  coffee,  milk,  and  chocolate  are 
served,  together  with  simple  cold  luncheons,  such 
as  ham,  cold  chicken,  sandwiches,  boiled  eggs; 
this  they  call  the  buffet-freddoy  or  cold  buffet.  A 
third  class  is  the  pasticheria  or  gelatteria^  where 
pastry  and  ices  (gelatti)  are  served,  together  with 
tea,  coffee,  chocolate,  and  frequently  wines,  cor- 
dials, and  liqueurs  (the  Italians  drink  almost  no 
ardent  liquor).  These  establishments  shade  off 
gradually  into  one  another,  and  it  is  hard  to  tell 
where  a  restaurant  leaves  off  and  a  cafe"  begins. 

Of  the  first,  or  restaurant  grade,  the  best  are: 
in  Rome,  the  Caffe  Roma;  in  Naples,  the  Caffe 
Gambrinus;  in  Genoa,  the  Caffe  Milano;  in 
Florence,  the  Caffe  Doney.  The  Gambrinus,  in 
Naples,  is  situated  on  the  corner  of  the  Chiaia 
and  the  Piazza  San  Ferdinando,  the  very  heart  of 
the  city;  one  may  dine  there  very  pleasantly  in 
the  windows  looking  out  upon  the  fine  carriage 
parade — for  the  Neapolitans  drive  until  dark 
and  dine  late. 

345 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

In  Rome  the  CafFe  Roma  Is  on  the  Largo  al 
Corso,  next  to  the  Church  of  San  Carlo — also 
in  the  heart  of  the  city.  The  cafes  I  have  men- 
tioned in  Genoa  and  Florence  are  also  on  the 
leading  streets.  A  sample  bill  from  one  will  give 
the  average  prices  of  all.  Here  is  a  tahle-d' hote 
luncheon  at  the  CafFe  Roma: 

Antipasto,  or  hors-d'oeuvres,  including  sardines,  sliced 
mortadella  sausage,  cold  ham,  radishes,  and  butter. 

Macaroni,  omelette,  or  risotto. 

A  choice  of  several  plati  d'l  ^/^r«(?,  such  as  veal  cutlets, 
chops,  steaks,  chicken  saute,  etc.,  garnished  with  vege- 
tables. 

Cheese,  gorgonzola  and  gruyere. 

Oranges,  apples,  pears,  figs,  dates,  nuts,  coffee. 

For  this  luncheon,  served  at  the  best  restau- 
rant in  Rome,  the  price  is  three  and  a  half  lire, 
or  about  sixty-four  cents.  A  specimen  luncheon, 
ordered  a  la  carte  at  the  same  place,  is  as  fol- 
lows: 

Lire     Centeiimi 

Consomme  with  an  egg 75 

Tenderloin  steak i   5° 

Half  a  chicken i   50 

Risotto 50 

Coffee 50 

Total ,  ,  .  .  4  25 

346 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

Or  about  seventy-eight  cents.  These  are  the 
prices  in  the  best  restaurants  in  Rome — that  is, 
not  including  hotel  restaurants. 

Another  typical  establishment  is  the  Caffe  Na- 
zionale  in  the  Corso  in  Rome,  always  called  the 
CafFe  Aragno,  from  the  name  of  the  proprietor. 
This  is  a  large  and  handsomely  fitted  up  estab- 
lishment— more  of  a  cafe  than  a  restaurant.  It 
is  on  the  wide  part  of  the  Corso,  near  the  Piazza 
Colonna,  and  therefore  has  some  sidewalk  space 
for  tables  and  chairs.  From  midday  to  midnight 
these  outdoor  tables  are  crowded — as  for  that 
matter,  so  is  the  interior  of  the  spacious  cafe'. 
While  a  majority  of  its  patrons  are  men,  prob- 
ably one-fourth  are  women,  particularly  at  the 
afternoon  tea  hour.  But  at  almost  any  hour  the 
Aragno  is  filled  with  a  polyglot  throng  watching 
the  brilliant  equipages  roll  by  on  the  Corso. 

The  men  drink  principally  vermouth,  cordials, 
and  sugared  water.  The  Italian  women  drink 
what  their  husbands  do.  The  German  women 
drink  Vienna  and  Munich  beer.  The  American 
and  English  women  drink  tea.  The  women  go 
to  the  bufiFet  and  pick  out  their  own  pastry  and 
sweets,  of  which  there  is  an  infinite  variety.  It  is 
rather  amusing  to  see  an  American  woman  "  sam- 
pling'* a  variety  of  sweets,  finally  selecting  those 

347 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

she  wants,  preparing  to  pay  her  bill,  and  finding 
that  the  polite  clerk  has  charged  her  two  cents 
for  every  "sample."  It  vastly  disgusts  her.  But 
after  she  has  been  abroad  a  while  she  gets  used  to 
it.  If  in  Europe  you  get  anything  for  nothing, 
I  don't  know  what  it  is. 

The  prices  of  the  CafF^  Aragno,  taken  from  its 
very  extensive  list,  may  prove  interesting.  Here 
are  some  selections  with  prices  in  American  money : 

CAFFETERIA  ^cnts 

Coffee 05 

Coffee  with  milk 07 

Coffee  with  an  egg 08 

Coffee  with  bread 10 

Chocolate  plain 10 

Chocolate  made  with  milk 08 

Tea  plain 10 

Tea   with  milk 12 

Tea  with  bread 15 

Cup  of  hot   milk 06 

Butter 04 

Cream 02 

Vienna   roll 01 

BUFFET 

Cold  ham 12 

Small   meat  patty 06 

Sandwiches 03 

348 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

Cold  roast  beef 20 

Cold   roast  veal 20 

Two  eggs  cooked   with  butter lo 

Two  boiled  eggs 08 

French  sardines 10 

Assorted  fruit 10 

Cheese 06 

Dried   fruit 08 

ICES 

Ice-cream,  whole  portion 12 

Ice-cream,  half  portion 06 

Water-ice    (granita)^    different    flavors, 

whole  portion     08 

Water-ice,  half  portion 05 

With  about  twenty  other  ices,  water-ices, 
and  combinations  of  syrups  for  which  there 
are  no  English  equivalents. 

WINES 

Madeira,  per  glass 08 

Medoc,  per  glass 06 

Marsala,  per  glass 05 

Old  Chianti,  per  glass 06 

French  champagne,  per  glass 20 

LIQUEURS 

Vermouth,  per  glass 04 

Anisette,  per  glass 05 

Benedictine,  per  glass lO 

349 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Absinthe,  per  glass 05 

Chartreuse,  per  glass 12 

Curasao,  per  glass 10 

Kirschwasser,  per  glass 06 

Hennessy  cognac,  per  glass 16 

Three-star  M artel  cognac,  per  glass    ...   16 
Punch,  "  Old  mild  Americano,*'  per  glass   20 

With  any  of  these  beverages  a  glass  of 
seltzer  or  soda-water  is  served  for  an  extra 
charge  of  one  cent. 

This  cafe'^  is  largely  frequented  by  strangers 
as  well  as  by  the  Romans,  for  one  finds  there 
the  leading  journals  of  Italy,  Austro-Hungary, 
Germany,  Spain,  and  Great  Britain.  There  are 
three  English  papers  —  the  London  Times ^  the 
'Daily  News,  and  the  Illustrated  Graphic,  I  saw 
no  American  journals  on  file  there. 


The  hotels  of  Cairo  are  among  the  best  in 
the  world.  Shepheard's,  the  Continental,  the 
New,  the  Ghizereh  Palace,  the  Savoy,  and  Mena 
House  at  the  Pyramids  are  the  leading  ones. 
They  are  run  on  both  the  European  and  Amer- 
ican plan — en  pension,  as  they  call  the  latter  over 
there.  They  are  large,  handsome  buildings,  with 
spacious  corridors,  and  with  luxuriously  furnished 

350 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

smoking,  writing,  reading,  tea,  and  billiard  rooms. 
Gorgeous  rugs  from  Persian  and  Arabian  looms, 
rich  Oriental  bronzes  and  brasses,  elaborately 
carved  wooden  Mushrabiyeh  work  —  beautiful 
objects  like  these  surround  you  on  every  hand. 
Even  the  bedroom  floors  and  the  staircases  are 
covered  with  Persian  rugs.  Through  the  richly 
furnished  corridors  flit  silent  servants  —  white- 
clad,  turbaned,  slippered,  cringing  Orientals,  who 
almost  anticipate  your  every  wish.  But  the  ser- 
vants are  not  all  Orientals.  The  cooks  are,  of 
course,  Europeans,  for  the  cuisine  is  French.  The 
table-waiters,  the  hall-waiters,  and  the  chamber- 
maids are  also  European.  The  service  in  these 
hotels  is  excellent.  So  is  the  food,  and  so  is 
the  cookery. 

In  addition  to  the  elaborate  table-d'hote  meals, 
most  of  the  fashionable  hotels  have  grill-rooms. 
Here  you  may  see  pleasant  little  parties  who  do 
not  like  the  formality  of  the  table  d'hote^  although 
the  women  all  wear  evening-gowns  and  the  men 
are  also  conventionally  dressed.  It  is  the  formal- 
ity of  manner  doubtless,  rather  than  the  formality 
of  dress,  at  the  table  d'hote  to  which  they  object, 
for  these  handsomely  gowned  ladies  do  not  scru- 
ple to  toss  oflF  a  little  glass  of  cognac  and  smoke 
a  cigarette  after  dinner  in  the  grill-room.     About 

351 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

some  of  the  parties  at  these  Cairo  hotels  there 
is  a  tinge  of  "sportiness." 

The  grill-room  at  Shepheard's  is  notable  not 
only  for  its  "sporty**  parties,  but  for  its  cookery. 
It  is  excellent.  Everything  they  set  before  you 
is  of  the  best.  The  hot  plate  there  is  not  un- 
known, as  it  is  in  so  many  hotels.  And  their 
steaks  and  chops  are  super-excellent.  You  can 
get  at  Shepheard*s  grill  an  excellent  porterhouse 
steak — something,  by  the  way,  almost  unknown 
abroad.  Even  in  England  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  get  a  porterhouse  steak — they  cut  up  the 
beeves  differently  there.  And  Shepheard's  rump 
steaks  are  delicious.  In  fact,  the  beef  there  is  the 
finest  I  ever  ate.  Barring  Cairo,  the  finest  beef 
I  have  found  in  the  world  has  been  in  Chicago. 
Chicago  is  the  great  beef  center  in  the  United 
States,  and  the  hotels  there  used  to  have  the 
choice  of  the  choicest  beef.  Over  thousands  of 
miles  of  Western  pasture  stolid  steers  plodded 
and  grazed ;  the  smartest  steer  got  the  best  grass ; 
the  smartest  buyer  got  the  best  steers ;  the  smartest 
town  had  the  best  buyers ;  the  best  beeves  went 
to  Chicago ;  and  the  best  Chicago  hotels  got  the 
best  beef  of  the  best  beeves.  I  still  remember 
the  savory  steaks  and  roast  beef  of  the  old 
Richelieu  there — now,  alas,  closed. 

352 


OF   EATING   AND   DRINKING 

Not  only  is  Shepheard^s  grill-room  excellent, 
but  its  grill  is  a  type  of  the  whole  hotel.  The 
first-class  Cairo  hotels  all  seem  to  be  as  good  as 
Shepheard*s.  But  all  of  them  are  high-priced. 
Cairo  is  a  very  expensive  city. 

While  I  speak  so  highly  of  Shepheard's,  I 
may  add  that  the  EngHsh  aristocracy  and  the 
"smart  set"  seem  very  largely  to  have  left  it  for 
the  Savoy/  the  Continental,  and  the  Ghizereh 
Palace.  This  latter  is  across  the  Nile,  some  little 
distance  out  of  Cairo.  It  was  a  palace  specially 
arranged  and  decorated  by  the  late  Khedive  Is- 
mail to  entertain  his  royal  guest-s  at  the  opening 
of  the  Suez  Canal,  among  them  the  Empress 
Elizabeth  of  Austria,  the  Empress  Eugenie  of 
France,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  so  many  of  the  Lon- 
don smart  set  frequent  Cairo.  I  think  they  go 
there  to  get  something  to  eat.  The  Cairo  hotels 
are  much  better  than  the  best  London  hotels  — 
which,  in  my  opinion,  are  poor.  Even  the  newer 
London  hotels,  like  the  Savoy  and  the  Cecil, 
have  restaurants  which  are  none  too  good.  I 
am  aware  that  this  will  be  considered  heterodox, 
but  I  stick  to  it,  notwithstanding.  I  have  eaten 
some  very  bad  dinners  at  the  Savoy.  I  think 
it  was  Talleyrand  who  left  England  declaring  in 
X  333 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

disgust  that  the  English  had  forty  religions  and 
only  one  sauce. 

The  taunt  is  true  to-day.  They  still  have  only 
one  sauce — melted  butter.  But  there  may  be  a 
few  more  religions  now. 


554 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

IT  would  be  waste  of  space  to  tell  of  Oberam- 
mergau.  It  has  been  so  much  written  about 
that  little  remains  to  tell.  Every  one  has  heard 
or  read  descriptions  of  the  village.  Still,  one 
may  perhaps  indulge  in  comment  on  the  play. 
It  lasts  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till 
five  in  the  evening — a  long  play  to  sit  through, 
to  write  about,  or  to  review. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  well,  in  writing  of  Ober- 
ammergau,  to  compile  a  list  of  what  not  to  write 
about — as,  for  example: 

Of  the  origin  of  the  Passion  Play. 

Of  the  history  of  the  Passion  Play. 

Of  the  performers  in  the  Passion  Play. 

Of  the  lives  of  the  performers  in  the  Passion 
Play. 

Of  the  village  of  Oberammergau. 

Of  its  uninteresting  whitewashed  houses,  with 
their  iron  roofs. 

355 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Of  the  enormous,  ugly  building,  with  iron 
girders,  like  a  railway  station,  which  is  the  "  new 
theatre." 

Of  the  crowded  hotels  at  Munich  and  Inns- 
bruck. 

Of  the  carriage  trip  from  Oberau  to  Oberam- 
mergau. 

Of  the  electric-tram  trip  between  Murnau  and 
Oberammergau. 

Of  the  new  hotel,  the  Wittelsbacherhof,  with  its 
uniformed  porter  and  its  brass-buttoned  bell-boys. 

Of  the  inns  or  beer-houses,  with  their  tobacco- 
reeking  tap-rooms. 

Of  the  crowded  trains  between  Munich  and 
Oberammergau. 

Of  the  people  with  first-class  tickets  who 
were  forced  to  travel  third. 

Of  what  they  threatened  to  do  about  it. 

Of  what  they  did  not  do. 

Of  the  German-speaking  Americans  who  could 
not  understand  the  Ammergauers'  German. 

Of  the  "  picturesque  Tyrolean  mountaineers  " 
whom  some  people  saw  in  the  streets. 

Of  the  "funny-looking  men  with  feathers  in 
their  hats"  whom  some  other  people  saw. 

Of  the  fire-company  marching  through  the 
streets,  headed  by  the  Passion  Play  Brass  Band. 

356 


THE   PASSION    PLAY 

Of  the  long  procession  of  cows  one  saw  filing 
through  the  village  every  evening. 

Of  the  shrines  that  line  the  roads  around  Ober- 
ammergau. 

Of  the  difficulty  of  getting  seats  to  see  the  play. 

Of  the  people  who  neglected  to  bring  rugs  and 
wraps,  and  "simply  froze." 

Of  the  people  who  ate  incessantly  out  of  lunch- 
baskets. 

Of  what  queer  things  foreigners  take  out  of 
lunch-baskets. 

Of  the  multiformity,  mystery,  and  intricacy  of 
the  German  sausage. 

Of  how  the  cold  hard-boiled  egg  makes  the 
whole  world  kin. 

Of  the  queer  effects  produced  by  the  chorus 
when  shouting  scraps  of  Scripture. 

Of  their  resemblance  to  some  American  college 
yells. 

Of  the  staring  posters  of  the  tourist  agencies. 

Of  the  people  who  came  via  Innsbruck  and  saw 
the  famous  Maximilian  tomb. 

Of  those  who  came  the  same  way  and  did  not 
see  it. 

Of  those  who  did  not  see  it  and  said  they 
did  not  think  much  of  the  Maximilian  tomb 
anyway. 

357 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Of  the  egotism  of  travelers  who  have  seen 
things  that  other  travelers  have  not  seen. 

Of  the  travelers  who  say  they  have  seen  things 
when  they  have  not. 

Of  travelers'  lies  generally,  and  whether  they 
are  white  lies. 

Of  the  long-haired  Passion  players  one  saw 
walking  about  the  streets. 

Of  the  gaping  tourist  men  who  followed  them. 

Of  the  silly  tourist  women  who  ogled  and  flat- 
tered the  Passion  players. 

Of  the  silly  Passion  players  who  were  spoiled 
by  the  silly  tourist  women. 

Of  the  pestiferous  guides  and  touts  for  Munich 
hotels. 

Of  the  biograph  machines  and  their  crews 
planted  on  commanding  positions. 

Of  the  wise  tourist  virgins  who  had  their  lamps 
well  filled,  their  lodgings  secured,  and  who  floated 
around  smiling. 

Of  the  foolish  tourist  virgins  who  had  neglected 
to  fill  their  lamps,  who  had  a  worried  expression, 
and  who  did  n't  know  where  they  were  going  to 
sleep. 

Of  the  people  who  could  not  manage  the  Ger- 
man feather-beds. 

Of  the  fact  that  there  were  eleven  thousand 
358 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

American  tourists  booked  in  1900  as  against  two 
thousand  English. 

Of  the  probability  that  the  Americans  are  more 
pious  than  the  English. 

Of  the  possibility  that  they  are  only  more 
curious. 

Of  the  people  that  one  saw  in  the  audience  in 
tears. 

Of  their'  diversity  in  age,  condition,  and  sex. 

Of  the  weeping  English  tourists  in  noisy  tweeds 
and  violent  shirts. 

Of  the  weeping  German  tourists  who  blew  their 
noses  without  the  use  of  a  handkerchief. 

Of  the  American  maidens  who  wept  and  chewed 
gum  synchronously. 

Of  the  possible  sympathetic  connection  be- 
tween the  salivary  and  lachrymal  glands. 

Of  their  probable  non-relation,  as  ptyalin  is 
alkaline  and  tears  saline. 

Of  suddenly  waking  up  and  looking  at  the 
play  again. 

Of  the  people  who  "wondered  whether  the 
crucifixion  scene  would  be  unpleasant." 

Of  the  striking  nature  of  the  tableaux. 

Of  the  inartistic  effect  of  the  actors'  loud 
shouting. 

Of  its  necessity  by  reason  of  the  open-air  stage. 

359 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Of  the  curiosity  of  the  audience  over  the  way 
in  which  the  blood  gushed  from  the  side  of  the 
Crucified  One. 

Of  the  fact  that  it  flowed  out  of  the  spear- 
head. 

Of  the  gratification  of  the  audience  in  discov- 
ering that  fact. 

Of  their  further  discovery  that  the  Christus 
wore  a  steel  corset  under  his  flesh-colored  tights. 

Of  the  imitation  cock  which  crowed  over 
Peter's  denial  of  our  Lord. 

Of  the  genuine  village  cocks  which  cheerily 
answered  him. 

Of  the  thieves  who  hung  on  the  right  and  left 
of  the  Lord. 

Of  their  descent  from  the  cross. 

Of  their  dreadful  death  at  the  hands  of  a  Ro- 
man soldier  by  having  their  bones  broken  with 
stufl^ed  clubs. 


Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  many  queer  tourists 
who  went  to  Oberammergau :  I  met  in  Munich  a 
man  who  had  been  recommended  to  the  "Ho- 
tel den  zu  Vier  Jahreszeiten."  He  had  the 
name  so  written  on  a  card.  He  had  left  his 
hotel  for  a  walk.     He  could  not  find  it  again. 

360 


THE    PASSION    PLAY 

He  could  not  pronounce  the  name  of  his  hotel. 
The  passing  Miincheners  could  not  read  it  on 
his  card,  for  it  was  written  in  English  script 
instead  of  German  cursive.  His  hotel  omnibus 
was  passing  him  in  the  street  continually,  but  he 
did  not  recognize  it,  for  on  the  right  side  was  the 
sign  "  Four  Seasons  Hotel,"  and  on  the  left 
"Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons,"  while  the  German 
name  was  on  the  back  of  the  'bus,  where  he  did 
not  look.  Had  he  not  met  an  American  Good 
Samaritan,  he  would  have  been  arrested — for  in 
Germany  it  is  a  misdemeanor  to  get  lost,  and  it 
is  a  criminal  offense  not  to  know  where  you  live 
— Es  verboten.  Yet  this  tourist  was  one  of  the 
many  who  pass  judgment  on  a  play  whose  play- 
ers use  a  Bavarian  dialect  that  many  Germans 
cannot  understand. 


What  will  be  the  fate  of  any  man  who  ven- 
tures to  say  that  the  Passion  Play  at  Oberam- 
mergau  is  not  all  the  tourists  say  it  is  ?  What 
the  fate  of  him  who  asks  awkward  questions  ? 

"  ••  Hush,'  said  Mr.  Pickwick ;  '  don't  ask  any  ques- 
tions. It 's  always  best  on  these  occasions  to  do  what 
the  mob  do.' 

35i 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 


cc  c 


But  suppose  there  are  two  mobs?'   suggested  Mr. 
Snodgrass. 

"  'Shout  with  the  largest,'  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 
"  Volumes  could  not  have  said  more." 

No  one  can  doubt  the  soundness  of  Mr.  Pick- 
wick's worldly  wisdom,  as  set  forth  in  the  fore- 
going extract.  It  is  always  easier  to  agree  with 
everybody — when  you  can.  Sometimes  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  find  out  what  everybody  thinks.  But 
find  out  what  most  people  think,  and  then  agree. 
To  disagree  implies  superiority.  People  think 
(and  say)  that  you  are  affecting  a  higher  wisdom. 
To  disagree  is  to  be  lonesome.  It  is  better  to 
agree,  to  be  commonplace,  and  to  be  happy. 
Mr.  Pickwick  was  right. 

But  the  foregoing  lines  from  the  "Pickwick 
Papers"  recall  another  passage  in  one  of  Dick- 
ens's books — some  one  who  "always  wanted  to 
know,  you  know.'*  Was  it  the  Young  Gentle- 
man in  the  Circumlocution  Office?  Or  was  it 
Rosa  Dartle?  Like  him  or  her,  I  want  to  know, 
you  know.  I  want  to  know  whether  the  Passion 
Play  at  Oberammergau  is  really  the  dramatic,  the 
artistic  event  that  everybody  says  it  is.  I  am  the 
more  disposed  to  doubt  it  because  its  audiences 
are  mostly  tourists,  and,  to  my  thinking,  tourists 
lack  independence  of  judgment. 

362 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

.  One  of  the  curious  phases  of  this  traveling  age 
is  the  disposition  of  travelers  to  hoodwink  them- 
selves. By  this  I  mean  the  propensity  of  tour- 
ists to  throw  dust  in  their  own  eyes,  to  sneeze 
when  art  critics  take  snuff,  to  gush  to  order,  to 
admire  by  rule,  to  rave  by  rote,  to  fall  into  ecsta- 
sies over  the  proper  thing — in  short,  to  "jolly" 
themselves,  to  use  the  slang  phrase.  If  you  take 
some  of  these  soulful  tourists  into  a  strange  gal- 
lery and  show  them  a  picture  in  the  school  of 
Rembrandt,  telling  them  it  is  from  the  master's 
brush,  they  will  rave  over  Rembrandt.  When 
you  (accidentally)  discover  that  you  have  made  a 
mistake — that  it  is  by  one  of  Rembrandt's  follow- 
ers— that  the  "genuine"  Rembrandt  is  in  the 
next  room — then  they  will  rave  over  the  picture 
in  the  next  room.  They  remind  me  of  the  actor 
"Billy"  Florence,  who,  when  called  before  the 
curtain,  used  to  make  an  "old  home"  speech  in 
each  new  town.  Before  a  Connecticut  audience 
one  night  he  was  extending  his  heartfelt  thanks, 
and  with  tears  in  his  voice  said :  "  I  can  never 
forget  that  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  —  my 
boyhood's  days — were  passed  here  in  Hartford." 
A  man  in  the  front  row  interrupted,  and  said: 
"This  is  New  Haven,  Mr.  Florence."  "I 
meant  New  Haven,"  said  Florence,  gravely. 

363 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

The  soulful  tourist  will  correct  himself  with  as 
little  discomfiture  as  did  Florence,  and  with  as 
brazen  an  ease  will  direct  the  nozzle  of  his  emo- 
tional hose  at  New  Haven  instead  of  Hartford, 
and  besprinkle  it  with  tears. 

May  I  be  pardoned,  therefore,  if  I  question 
the  sincerity  of  some  of  the  tourists  who  un- 
qualifiedly rave  over  Oberammergau  ? — question 
the  wisdom  of  those  who  rave  sincerely?  —  ques- 
tion the  claims  of  the  Oberammergau  peasants  to 
be  raved  over? 

To  save  space,  let  me  coin  a  couple  of  words, 
and  call  the  gushers  the  "  Oberammergushers," 
the  gushees  the  "  Oberammergauers." 

It  is  the  thing  to  think  the  Oberammergauers 
artistic  and  the  Passion  Play  soulful ;  therefore  all 
tourists  declare  they  are  soulful  and  artistic. 

But  why  should  these  Bavarian  villagers  be 
considered  artistic  ?  Why  should  their  crude 
and  mediaeval  Passion  Play  be  deemed  soulful  ? 
The  players  are  peasants  —  dull  peasants  — 
dull  Teutonic  peasants.  Were  English  peas- 
ants to-day  to  produce  the  mediaeval  "  Gam- 
mer Gurton's  Needle,"  mother  of  English  plays, 
would  their  effort  be  "  artistic  "  ?  No.  Why, 
then,  should  Bavarian  peasants  successfully  pre- 
sent   a    play    which    would     test     the    abilities 

364 


THE    PASSION    PLAY 

of  skilled  actors  ?  Acting  is  an  art,  like  any- 
other.  How  can  these  peasants  excel  in  an 
art  which  they  have  never  learned  ?  Why- 
should  Anton  Lang,  potter,  without  an  actor's 
training,  succeed  in  acting  Jesus  Christ?  Why- 
should  Sebastian  Bauer,  wood-carver,  without  an 
actor's  training,  succeed  in  acting  Pontius  Pilate  ? 
Could  Joseph  Jefferson,  without  a  potter's  train- 
ing, succeed  in  making  Anton  Lang's  pots  ? 
Could  Henry  Irving,  without  a  carver's  training, 
succeed  in  making  Sebastian  Bauer's  wooden 
angels  ? 

All  intelligent  people — except  amateur  actors 
— will  agree  that  the  acting  of  untrained  actors  is 
very  bad.  Who  ever  saw  a  genuinely  good  ama- 
teur performance  ?  Maugre  the  galvanic  smiles 
with  which  hapless  guests  greet  drawing-room 
comedies,  every  one  knows  in  his  secret  soul  that 
they  are  awful.  The  worst  barn-storming  com- 
pany that  ever  stormed  barns  is  better  than  the 
best  of  amateurs. 

Are  these  ignorant  peasants  brighter  than  the 
well-educated  and  highly  polished  people  who 
fail  so  lamentably  in  drawing-room  performances? 
And  if  so,  why?  It  may  be  contended  that  they 
are  "nearer  to  nature."  That  would  only  make 
them  awkward  and  shy.      Can  a  plow-boy  play  a 

365 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

plow-boy  as  well  as  an  actor  can  ?  Can  a  clod- 
hopper successfully  delineate  a  lout  ?  The  stage 
peasant  is  always  more  picturesque  than  the  real 
thing. 

It  was  the  beautiful  ballerina  Fanny  EUsler 
who,  masquerading  as  a  milkmaid,  won  the  heart 
of  the  gloomy  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  Napoleon's 
son.  Had  Metternich  hired  a  genuine  Schonn- 
brunn  milkmaid  instead  of  an  actress,  his  trick 
would  have  failed.  Genuine  milkmaids,  to  be 
good  milkers,  must  have  large,  red  hands,  and 
they  often  have  bad  tempers  and  use  bad  lan- 
guage from  contact  with  obstinate  cows  that 
persist  in  switching  their  tails  and  tipping  over 
the  milk-pail. 

The  Oberammergushers  contend  that  the 
Oberammergauers  possess  a  special  gift  of  clever- 
ness. But  why  should  they  ?  There  is  no 
smarter  set  of  country  people  than  those  who 
dwell  in  the  rural  districts  of  the  United  States. 
They  are  not  so  smart  in  the  gainful  sense — 
that  is,  not  so  mercenary — as  are  most  European 
country  people.  I  hope  they  never  may  become 
so.  But  in  other  respects  they  are  fully  as  keen- 
witted as  Swiss  villagers  or  Normandy  farmers, 
and  they  are  much  more  intelligent,  broader,  and 
better  educated.     I   say    this   despite  the  excel- 

366 


THE    PASSION    PLAY 

lent  schools  in  Switzerland  and  North  Germany. 
Our  American  common  schools  may  have  faults. 
But  few  European  common-school  systems  sur- 
pass them.  Take  some  hundreds  of  the  gradu- 
ates of  the  American  public  schools,  keen-witted, 
bright  young  men  and  women,  with  the  facility 
of  speech  which  comes  from  the  "composition 
writing''  and  "declamation"  taught  in  the  Amer- 
ican schools.  Give  them  an  ambitious  histrionic 
performance  to  cope  with.  Let  us  not  say  the 
Passion  of  Christ,  for  it  is  foreign  to  their  ideas, 
and  to  many  of  Protestant  training  its  stage 
representation  would  be  repulsive.  Take  any 
other  great  human  drama — say,  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  or  the 
Fall  of  Troy.  What  sort  of  a  fist  would  they 
make  of  putting  such  a  play  upon  the  stage  ? 
One  smiles  at  the  mere  idea.  Yet  these  Ameri- 
cans would  be  superior  in  every  way  to  the 
Bavarians. 

To  those  who  say  that  the  peasants  have,  in 
the  interval  between  their  decennial  perform- 
ances, training  enough  to  make  their  scenes  into 
a  play,  to  make  their  tableaux  into  a  drama,  and 
to  make  themselves  into  actors,  the  answer  is 
that  no  such  training  ever  accomplishes  those 
ends.     It  is  not  rehearsing,  but  actual  playing  — 

367 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

upon  a  stage,  and  before  audiences — that  turns 
raw  material  into  plays,  and  raw  men  and  women 
into  actors  and  actresses.  No  man,  however  ex- 
pert, can  tell  the  fate  of  an  untried  actor  or  an 
unplayed  play.  Millions  have  been  spent  to 
produce  new  plays  by  skilled  playwrights,  which 
plays  saw  the  footlights  only  to  meet  disaster. 
Sardou  and  Dumas — veterans  both — have  both 
produced  fiascos  between  their  most  successful 
plays.  Dress-rehearsals  settle  nothing.  They 
are  what  the  peasants  have.  Dramatic  schools, 
lyceums,  teachers  of  acting — most  of  what  they 
teach  has  to  be  unlearned  when  the  novice  faces 
the  footlights. 

The  contention  of  the  Oberammergushers  is 
that  the  lack  of  histrionic  ability  in  these  peas- 
ants is  made  up  by  their  simple  piety.  Simple 
piety  is  perhaps  a  potent  thing.  Like  faith,  it 
may  move  mountains,  but  it  will  not  move  audi- 
ences— that  is,  not  metropolitan  audiences.  The 
tourist  audiences  one  sees  at  Oberammergau  may 
be  moved  by  this  mixture  of  piety,  bad  acting, 
and  maudlinism.  That  is  what  they  are  there 
for — to  "jolly"  themselves  into  the  belief  that 
they  are  witnessing  a  great  dramatic  representa- 
tion and  artistic  acting.  But  the  gatherings  of 
jaded  worldlings  and  hurried  workers  that  make 

368 


THE    PASSION    PLAY  V" 

up  metropolitan  audiences  do  not  indulge  in  sei 
deception.  They  will  not  be  "jollied."  They 
want  their  money's  worth.  They  are  keen  critics, 
enthusiastic  admirers,  merciless  judges.  They 
would  hoot  the  bad  acting  of  the  peasants  unless 
it  was  so  bad  as  to  be  funny.  And  it  is  not  that* 
It  is  only  dull.  At  Oberammergau  in  1900  the 
only  one  whose  acting  was  so  bad  as  to  be  ludi- 
crous was  the  young  woman  who  played  Mary. 

Alienists  and  other  skeptic  specialists  say  that 
"fervent  piety"  is  a  form  of  mild  mania.  If  the 
religious  fervor  of  these  peasants  be  madness, 
there  is  certainly  method  in  their  madness.  In 
1890  they  took  in  three-quarters  of  a  million 
marks  as  gate-money  for  their  performance — for 
piety.  They  gave  a  quarter  of  a  million  marks 
in  salaries  to  performers — for  piety.  Some  fifty 
thousand  marks  went  to  house-owners  for  rooms 
rented — for  piety.  Each  of  the  following  funds 
received  ten  thousand  marks — hospital,  drainage, 
public  fountains,  paving,  fire-engines,  paupers, 
soldiers,  parish  church,  singing  lessons,  agricul- 
ture, carving-school  —  all  for  piety.  Among  the 
performers,  the  man  who  played  Jesus  Christ 
received  two  thousand  marks — for  piety.  The 
leader  of  the  band  thirteen  hundred  marks — for 
piety.  Even  the  six -year -old  children  in  the 
y  369 


J 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

tableaux  received  forty  marks  each — for  piety. 
There  is  nothing  like  making  children  pious 
when  they  are  young.  A  little  Oberammergau 
angel  who  gets  forty  marks  for  being  pious  when 
he  is  six  years  old  may  grow  up  to  be  a  Caiaphas 
and  get  four  hundred  marks  for  being  pious 
when  he  is  sixty. 

Anton  Lang,  the  man  who  played  Jesus  Christ, 
in  addition  to  receiving  two  thousand  marks  for 
his  play-acting,  made  several  thousand  marks 
by  the  sale  of  his  photographs,  autographs,  and 
poems. 

The  "fervent  piety"  of  the  villagers  seems  to 
an  unprejudiced  person  to  be  highly  commercial- 
ized. Everything  is  for  sale.  Every  bed  in  the 
village  is  for  hire.  The  last  drop  of  milk  is 
"stripped"  from  the  cows*  udders  —  for  piety. 
Before  the  eggs  are  hatched,  they  are  carefully 
counted — for  piety.  The  villagers  even  spy  upon 
the  cackling  parturient  hen — for  piety.  If  you 
have  a  camera  you  may  not  use  it,  as  the  conces- 
sion for  photographing  has  been  sold — for  piety. 
If  you  wish  to  have  stenographic  notes  taken  of 
the  play,  you  are  stopped,  as  the  right  of  repub- 
lication has  been  sold — for  piety.  You  could 
probably  hire  a  halo  —  for  a  pious  price.  And 
as  for  the   homely,   simple,  unspoiled    villagers, 

370 


THE    PASSION    PLAY 

they  strike  me  as  being  more  practical  than  pious. 
The  villagers  may  have  been  simple,  fervent,  and 
ingenuous  creatures  in  the  old  days,  but  they  are 
not  now.  The  tourist  agencies  have  spoiled  that. 
When  you  can  hire  in  London  Pontius  Pilate's 
great-grandm.other's  best  front  bedroom  for  twen- 
ty marks  per  day  it  removes  the  glamour. 

Those  who  babble  of  the  simple  villagers,  of 
their  being  children  of  nature,  and  of  their  intuitive 
ability  as  actors  and  actresses,  will  find  it  difficult 
to  explain  why  the  simple  villagers  should  hire 
skilled  stage-managers  and  professional  costumers 
to  help  them.  Yet  the  reason  is  not  difficult  to 
find.  It  is  easy  so  to  drill  ignorant  people  as 
to  make  them  march  and  group  themselves  in 
eflFective  tableaux.  It  is  easy  to  design  handsome 
costumes,  and  so  to  arrange  their  wearers  on  the 
stage  as  to  make  the  color-masses  unique  and 
effective.  In  short,  any  kind  of  human  beings 
can  be  utilized  as  stage-supers,  banner-bearers, 
and  clothes-racks.  But  when  it  comes  to  utiliz- 
ing them  for  histrionic  purposes,  it  requires 
human  beings  with  some  brains  and  a  talent 
for  acting. 

As  for  the  Oberammergushers  who  talk  of  the 
idyllic  simplicity  of  the  old  days,  the  religious 
fervor,  the  primitive  piety  of  the  peasants,  and 

371 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

all  that  sort  of  theologic  legend,  one  may  be  par- 
doned for  taking  it  with  a  great  deal  of  salt.  Up 
to  a  very  recent  period  the  devil  was  the  principal 
character  in  the  Passion  Play,  and  its  greatest 
scene  was  that  in  which  he  tore  open  the  bowels 
of  the  suicide,  Judas  Iscariot,  and  produced  long 
strings  of  sausages,  which  he  distributed  to  the 
roaring  audience  of  pious  peasants. 


One  evening  in  New  York,  some  years  ago,  I 
was  in  the  club-house  of  The  Players,  and  hap- 
pened to  be  one  of  a  circle  the  centre  of  which 
was  Edwin  Booth.  It  was  shortly  after  Booth 
had  purchased  that  building  on  Gramercy  Square 
and  donated  it  to  The  Players,  reserving  apart- 
ments in  it  for  himself.  At  that  time  Booth  and 
Barrett  had  been  making  a  tour  of  the  country, 
playing  Shakespearean  roles  together.  The  tour 
financially  was  very  successful.  Booth  was  a 
great  actor.  Barrett  was  not  great,  but  he  was 
a  fair  actor  and  an  excellent  business  man.  He 
did  much  toward  rehabilitating  Booth's  fallen  for- 
tunes. It  is  probable  that  the  existence  of  The 
Player's  Club  to-day  is  indirectly  due  to  Barrett's 
clever  management  of  Booth  as  a  star. 

However  that  may  be,  a  warm  friendship 
372 


THE   PASSION    PLAY 

existed  between  the  two  men.  There  was  appar- 
ently no  professional  jealousy.  But  there  could 
have  been  none.  Barrett  was  an  eminently 
just  man — a  rare  quality  in  actors — and  knew 
that  Booth  was  infinitely  his  superior.  Barrett 
was  more  than  willing  to  serve  as  a  foil  to 
Booth's  genius,  to  play  the  secondary  roleSy  which 
he  did  admirably,  and  look  out  for  the  box-office, 
which  he  did  even  more  admirably. 

On  this  particular  evening  Booth  was,  as  I 
said,  the  centre  of  the  circle.  But  he  was  a  silent 
centre.  At  best  he  was  monosyllabic.  Booth 
was  a  shy  man,  and  could  not  be  induced  to  talk 
in  a  circle  of  any  size.  How  he  may  have  been 
in  the  privacy  of  a  small  and  intimate  circle,  I 
do  not  know.  Barrett  was  a  good  talker,  and 
acted  as  a  "feeder'*  to  Booth,  as  the  stage  slang 
goes.  But  the  dialogue  between  them  consisted 
principally  in  Barrett  saying  that  he  "  believed 
Mr.  Booth  thought  so  and  so,"  and  then  saying 
deferentially,  "  Is  that  not  so,  Edwin  ?  "  To 
which  Booth  would  reply,  "Yes,  Lawrence,"  or 
else  would  silently  bow. 

The  talk  that  evening  turned  upon  Edwin 
Forrest  and  other  robust  tragedians  of  the  old 
school ;  of  tearing  a  passion  to  tatters ;  of  the 
repressed  or  so-called   Union  Square  School  of 

373 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

that  day;  of  Clara  Morris  and  her  fits  of  hys- 
terics in  emotional  roles;  of  intensity  and  emo- 
tionalism on  the  stage;  and,  lastly,  of  whether 
the  actor  should  himself  feel  the  emotion  which 
he  is  attempting  to  portray. 

Although  knowing  nothing  of  the  stage,  ex- 
cept from  the  orchestra  side  of  the  footlights,  I 
ventured  to  advance  some  views  in  the  matter — 
with  less  diffidence  because  they  were  not  mine. 
They  were  the  theories  which  Diderot,  critic, 
dramatist,  and  encyclopedist,  sets  forth  in  his 
famous  "Paradoxe  sur  le  Comedien."  Briefly  to 
summarize  them — I  am  writing  from  memory — 
they  are  somewhat  like  this:  Acting  is  an  art, 
like  any  other.  The  artist  who  is  producing  the 
highest  type  of  his  art-work  should  be  at  the 
highest  pitch  of  his  art -faculty.  The  highest 
pitch  of  the  creative  art-faculty  is  not  produced 
by  self-shared  or  reflex  emotion,  but  the  reverse. 
The  artist  who  strives  to  produce  a  certain  emo- 
tion must  not  himself  be  affected  by  his  own 
effort.  To  produce  the  highest  type  of  emo- 
tional simulacrum,  his  mind  must  be  clarified, 
tense,  and  free  from  any  of  the  disturbing  effects 
of  that  emotion.  If  he  yield  to  its  effects  his 
mind  loses  its  clarity,  and  he  ceases  to  judge 
accurately  of  artistic  values.      The  clearness  of 

374 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

his  mental  vision  is  disturbed  by  metaphorical 
tears,  if  that  which  he  is  representing  be  pathetic. 
It  is  a  species  of  artistic  auto-toxication.  When 
the  metaphorical  tears  become  actual  ones,  and 
the  artist,  like  Narcissus,  becomes  so  enamored 
of  his  own  creation  that  he  weeps  over  its  intense 
pathos,  artistic  auto-toxication  becomes  maudlin- 
ism.  This  is  the  extreme.  But  there  are  many 
stages  on  the  hither  side  of  maudlinism,  when 
the  artist's  sense  of  values  is  affected  by  emotion- 
alism. To  produce  the  highest  type  of  his  art- 
work, therefore,  the  artist's  mind  must  be  clear, 
calm,  well-balanced,  unconfused,  and  unaffected 
by  emotion.  When  he  begins  to  be  affected  by 
his  own  delineation,  from  that  moment  his  work 
begins  to  deteriorate.  This  is  true  of  all  artists 
—  notably  true  of  the  histrionic  artist  who  simu- 
lates human  emotion  in  the  flesh. 

These  Diderot  theories  attracted  not  a  little 
attention.  They  became  the  main  topic  of  the 
conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  were 
discussed  with  great  vigor.  Naturally  the  views 
were  varying.  Booth  listened  with  close  atten- 
tion, but  expressed  no  opinion,  much  to  my  re- 
gret, as  I  had  deliberately  introduced  the  topic 
for  the  purpose  of  drawing  him  out.  I  had  long 
looked  upon   him   as   the  greatest  artist  on  the 

375 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

English-speaking  stage;  I  had  always  believed 
that  his  was  the  high  type  of  art  which  approaches 
its  task  with  calmness  and  coolness,  and  which 
delineates  emotion  without  pretending  to  be 
affected  by  it.  I  was  disappointed  that  he  ex- 
pressed no  opinion. 

But  at  last  he  spoke.  It  was  in  reply  to  a 
direct  question  from  Barrett.  We  all  listened 
with  keen  interest.  Booth  spoke  in  low  tones, 
and  very  briefly.  This  substantially  is  what  he 
said : 

"There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Diderot 
theory  is  sound.  To  accomplish  his  best  work, 
the  actor,  like  any  other  artist,  must  have  his 
mind  clear  and  free  from  any  overmastering  emo- 
tion. True,  there  is  a  certain  exhilaration  which 
every  artist  feels  when  he  knows  that  he  is  doing 
his  best  work.  But  he  does  not  feel  the  emotion 
which  he  is  attempting  to  portray." 

Although  several  of  the  men  present  w^ere 
actors,  none  of  them  seemed  to  have  heard  of 
Diderot's  theory  before,  with  the  exception  of 
Barrett.  He  told  me  that  he  had  the  book  in 
his  library,  but  frankly  admitted  he  had  never 
read  it.  Next  day  he  sent  me  a  handsome 
edition  of  Diderot's  "Paradoxe" — a  tall  copy, 
printed  in  Elzevir  and  bound  in  vellum — with 

376 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

a  pleasant  note,  begging  me  to  keep  it  as  a 
souvenir  of  the  conversation  the  night  before.  I 
have  it  now. 

I  was  not  in  that  club  again  for  a  long  time, 
and  when  next  I  crossed  its  threshold  it  was  to 
find  the  club-house  hung  with  black.  Edwin 
Booth  had  passed  away  the  night  before,  and  his 
gentle  presence  was  henceforth  to  be  among  The 
Players  in  the  spirit  only. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  funeral.  A  hush  brooded 
over  the  luxurious  club-house.  The  chair  in 
which  Booth  had  sat  on  the  evening  of  this  con- 
versation—  his  accustomed  seat — was  draped  in 
mourning.  The  few  members  who  were  there 
conversed  in  undertones.  We  walked  through 
the  rooms,  confronted  at  every  hand  by  some 
souvenir  of  the  dead  man.  Here  it  was  Collier's 
large  and  imposing  picture  of  Booth  in  the  role 
of  Richelieu,  as  he  stands  with  uplifted  finger 
threatening  Baradas  with  the  curse  of  Rome. 
There  it  was  a  spirited  black-and-white  by  Thure 
de  Thulstrup — a  group  in  the  grill-room  of  The 
Players,  with  portraits  of  Booth,  Jefferson,  Bar- 
rett, Florence,  James  Lewis,  and  others.  Next 
it  was  his  silver  cup  hanging  on  its  peg  in  the 
grill-room,  with  his  name  beneath. 

In  the  library  there  was  upon  the  wall  some- 
377 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

thing  before  which  hung  a  decorous  curtain.  One 
of  our  party  drew  it  aside.  It  was  a  collection  of 
death-masks.  The  freshest-looking  were  those 
of  Dion  Boucicault  and  Lawrence  Barrett. 

The  same  thought  occurred  to  all  of  us — not 
many  days  would  pass  before  that  of  Booth  would 
figure  there  as  well. 

His  body  was  lying  in  an  upper  room,  laid  out 
for  burial.  We  were  asked  if  we  wished  to  see 
it.     We  declined. 

Personally  I  did  not  wish  to  see  him  dead.  I 
preferred  to  remember  him  as  he  was  in  life.  So 
we  went  out  of  the  Players'  Club  into  the  warm 
June  night,  and  stopping  as  we  walked  by  Gram- 
ercy  Park,  we  looked  up  at  the  floor  where  the 
dead  actor  lay.  The  little  park  is  away  from  the 
roar  and  turmoil  of  New  York  —  it  was  as  quiet 
as  a  village.  There  was  nothing  to  disturb  the 
rest  of  the  great  actor,  as  he  lay  there  sleeping 
under  the  silent  stars. 


I  have  often  thought  of  the  conversation  that 
night  in  The  Players — more  often  since  the 
Passion  Play  at  Oberammergau.  Probably  what 
recalls  it  is  the  contrast  between  the  opinions 
expressed    on    acting    by    actors — among    them 

378 


THE    PASSION    PLAY 

Booth,  one  of  the  greatest  of  actors — and  the 
opinions  expressed  by  tourists  about  the  Passion 
Play.  The  tourists  include  young  women  of 
eighteen  or  thereabouts,  whose  matured  opinions 
on  any  subject  are  naturally  of  value ;  their 
younger  brothers — hobbledehoys  of  sixteen,  say, 
who  decide  all  grave  questions  instanter ;  faded 
mothers  of  fifty-odd,  who  secretly  disapprove  of 
all  plays  except  "Ben  Hur,"  "Quo  Vadis,"  and 
the  circus  ;  gray-whiskered  fathers  of  nearly  three- 
score, who  have  retired  from  business,  who  know 
naught  except  business,  who  never  went  to  the 
theatre  except  to  see  Brass  Monkeys  or  Parlor 
Matches,  and  who  generally  went  to  sleep  there 
even  then.  American  tourists  in  large  majority 
are  made  up  of  the  foregoing  types.  And  it  is 
odd  how  closely  the  foreign  tourists  resemble  them 
in  the  types,  if  not  in  the  individuals. 

It  is  not  remarkable,  therefore,  that  actors 
should  not  share  the  views  of  the  tourist  audi- 
ences about  the  Passion  Play.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  tableaux,  it  is,  they  say,  crude  and 
inartistic.  If  I  were  a  very  religious  person,  I 
would  go  further  and  say  that  it  seems  coarse 
and  blasphemous.  The  tableaux  are  remarkable, 
but  that  is  due  to  the  Munich  stage-managers 
and  costumers.     The  peasants  serve   no  higher 

379 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

purpose  in  the  tableaux  than  would  so  many- 
mules.     Perhaps,  however,  they  stand  better. 

I  have  already  said  that  actors  can  play  peas- 
ants better  than  peasants  can.  I  will  go  further 
— irreligious  actors  can  play  a  religious  drama 
better  than  religious  peasants  can.  I  saw  the 
Passion  Play  when  it  was  put  upon  the  American 
stage  by  Salmi  Morse  years  ago.  James  O'Neill, 
a  good  actor  and  a  good  Roman  Catholic, 
played  the  Christ.  He  played  the  difficult  role 
reverently  and  well  —  far  better,  in  my  opinion, 
than  any  peasant  could — even  Josef  Mayer. 
So  with  the  other  actors  in  the  professional  ren- 
dering of  the  Passion  Play — whatever  their  pri- 
vate lives  or  their  religions,  they  played  their 
roles  much  better  than  the  pious  peasants.  Let 
the  cobbler  stick  to  his  last. 

With  the  memories  of  the  last  time  I  saw 
Booth  revived  by  this  train  of  thought — the 
Passion  Play — the  crude  workmanship  of  the 
peasant  player-folk — the  recollection  of  the  dis- 
cussion over  actors  and  acting  at  The  Players — 
the  superiority  of  the  professional  players  to  the 
untrained  ones — the  Christ  as  played  by  James 
O'Neill,  actor,  and  by  Anton  Lang,  potter — this 
train  of  thought  suggested  to  me  the  idea:  How 
would  Edwin  Booth  have  played  the  Christus? 

380 


THE   PASSION   PLAY 

As  there  rose  up  before  me  the  recollection  of  his 
magnetic  person,  his  handsome,  haunting  face, 
his  melancholy  eyes,  I  could  not  help  but  think 
that  in  his  early  manhood  no  one  could  have 
played  the  Saviour  better  than  Edwin  Booth, 
player. 


381 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

ONE  of  the  most  amusing  of  Alphonse 
Daudet's  books  is  "Tartarin  on  the  Alps." 
Tartarin  is  the  typical  southern  Gaul.  He  comes 
from  Tarascon,  a  little  place  which  Daudet's  play- 
ful pen  has  made  famous,  although  its  inhabitants 
by  no  means  relish  their  peculiar  fame.  When  the 
trains  of  the  Paris-Lyons-Mediterranean  line  stop 
at  this  station  and  the  trainmen  bawl  "Tarascon  ! " 
heads  pop  out  of  windows  like  Punch-and-Judy 
shows,  and  doors  slam  open  all  along  the  train. 
Every  countenance  wears  a  broad  grin.  For 
every  traveler  on  the  train  knows  that  this  was 
the  home  of  Daudet's  Tartarin,  of  Tartarin  of 
Tarascon. 

Tartarin  is  depicted  by  Daudet  as  being  a  lion- 
killer.  He  returns  from  Algeria,  bringing  with 
him  some  moth-eaten  lion-skins  which  he  has 
purchased,  and  thereafter  poses  before  his  Taras- 
connais  fellow-townsmen  as  a  lion-slayer,  a  Nim- 
rod,  a  mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord.     Such  is 

382 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

his  local  fame  that  he  is  elected  president  of  the 
Alpine  Club  of  Tarascon,  which  daring  band  at 
stated  times  climbs  a  little  hillock  in  the  suburbs, 
and  periodically  plants  thereon  the  banner  of  the 
club.  But  a  base  jealousy  seethes  in  the  heart 
of  Costacalde,  Tarascon's  gunsmith.  He  even 
ventures  to  decry  Tartarin  to  Tartarin's  bosom 
friend,  Bezuquet,  Tarascon's  apothecary.  He 
drops  the  poison  of  doubt  in  his  townsmen's 
minds.  He  brews  suspicions  of  Tartarin's  lion- 
killing.  He  distills  venomous  sneers  concerning 
his  exploits. 

Tartarin  by  these  doubts  concerning  his 
apocryphal  exploits  is  wounded  to  the  core.  He 
determines  to  go  secretly  to  Switzerland,  and  to 
plant  the  banner  of  the  Tarascon  Alpine  Club 
upon  the  Matterhorn  or  the  Jungfrau.  He  is 
taken  to  Switzerland  by  express  train,  and  alights 
at  the  door  of  a  magnificent  modern  hotel,  with 
electric  lights,  lifts,  and  waiters  in  swallow-tail 
coats.  Here  his  impedimenta  of  alpenstocks, 
snow-spectacles,  spiked  shoes,  and  life-lines  excite 
some  amusement  not  unmixed  with  wonder,  The 
wonder  is  reciprocal.  Tartarin  is  amazed  at  find- 
ing modern  improvements  and  electric  lights 
where  he  had  expected  to  find  naught  but  ava- 
lanches and  glaciers.     But  to  him  there  suddenly 

3«3 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

appears  Bompard.  "Te!  Tartarin!"  "  Te ! 
Bompard  ! "  They  fall  into  one  another's  arms. 
Bompard  is  also  a  son  of  the  sunny  south.  Like 
Tartarin,  he  is  given  to  lying  about  his  own 
exploits.  Like  him,  too,  he  is  credulous.  Each 
believes  the  other.  Tartarin  believes  that  Bom- 
pard has  climbed  mountains.  Bompard  believes 
that  Tartarin  has  slain  lions. 

They  dine  together.  They  drink  together. 
They  tell  stories  together.  Tartarin  is  amazed 
at  Bompard's  exploits  in  the  high  Alps,  until 
Bompard,  swearing  him  to  secrecy,  confides  to 
him  that  Switzerland  is  artificial;  that  the  whole 
country  is  exploited  by  an  enormous  syndicate; 
that  it  runs  the  hotels;  that  it  runs  the  railways; 
that  it  constructs  the  funicular  and  electric  trams 
up  the  mountain  peaks;  that  it  works  the  ava- 
lanches; that  the  demolitions  of  villages  are 
pre-arranged;  that  the  inhabitants  are  warned  to 
vacate  their  homes  in  time;  that  the  gayly  dressed 
peasant-girls  by  the  road-side  are  actresses;  that 
the  mountaineers  who  sound  the  "Ranz  des 
Vaches'*  are  hired  for  the  purpose;  that  the 
dreadful  accidents  which  terrify  the  world  are 
part  of  the  syndicate's  advertising  scheme;  that, 
in  short,  all  Switzerland  is  a  gigantic  fake. 

"  But,"  interrupts  the  breathless  Tartarin, 
384 


THE    THRIFTY   SWISS 

"when  mountain-climbers  fall  into  bottomless 
abysses,  what  happens  to  them  ? " 

"Mattresses/'  replies  Bompard,  oracularly; 
"there  are  mattresses  at  the  bottom  on  which 
they  fall.  Then  the  syndicate  pays  them  a  hand- 
some salary  to  leave  Switzerland  for  a  term  of 
years.      Let  us  drink." 

They  drink. 

It  would  -be  useless  to  give  here  the  end  of 
Daudet's  narrative — to  tell  how  Tartarin  char- 
tered guides  to  climb  the  Jungfrau  and  Mont 
Blanc ;  of  how  he  dragged  with  him  the  reluctant 
Bompard  ;  of  how  Tartarin  terrified  the  guides 
by  his  daring  and  his  indifference  to  danger ;  of 
how  he  amazed  them  by  winking  and  joking  when 
they  had  escaped  some  deadly  peril ;  of  how  a  cry 
of  terror,  a  sudden  tightening  of  the  life-lines,  and 
a  fall,  told  Tartarin  that  there  was  indeed  danger 
in  the  higher  Alps ;  of  how,  when  all  was  well 
again,  the  guides  found  Tartarin  and  Bompard 
had  been  on  opposite  sides  of  a  backbone  of  ice, 
and  also  found  that  the  life-line  uniting  them  was 
cleanly  cut — on  both  sides  of  the  ridge. 

Bompard  had  been  willing  to  let  his  friend 
Tartarin  be  dashed  to  death  rather  than  die 
himself. 

Tartarin  had  resolved  to  save  his  own  life,  even 

z  385 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

if,  in  so  doing,  he  would  forever  lose  his  friend 
Bompard. 

Daudet's  whimsical  sketch  points  a  moral  as 
well  as  adorns  a  tale.  It  is  that  the  Swiss  have 
thoroughly  and  elaborately  utilized  Switzerland. 
While  they  have  not  turned  it  into  a  gigantic 
pantomime-show,  with  trap-doors  and  property 
precipices,  as  the  clever  Frenchman  implies,  they 
have  done  something  akin  yet  different.  They 
have  improved  it  like  a  Japanese  landscape- 
garden.  They  have  turned  everything  in  their 
little  land  to  material  account.  If  the  earth  is 
the  Lord's  and  the  fullness  thereof.  He  has  at 
least  given  man  the  usufruct  of  it.  The 
usufructuary  should  therefore  make  it  as  useful 
as  he  can.     This  the  Swiss  have  done. 

In  Switzerland  as  elsewhere  the  land  is  tilled 
where  it  is  tillable;  but  where  it  is  not  tillable,  it 
is  made  otherwise  useful.  In  other  countries 
great  mountain  ranges  capped  with  perennial 
snows  are  abandoned  by  man  to  the  elements. 
But  in  Switzerland  the  natives  have  made  their 
magnificent  mountains  so  accessible,  so  easy  to 
climb,  and  so  comfortable  to  visit,  or  even  to  live 
upon,  that  the  little  land  is  ever  filled  with 
strangers.  During  the  season  of  1900  some 
twenty-five  millions  of  visitors  registered  in  the 

386 


**  The  Rigi^  the  oldest  mountain-railway  in  Switzerland. 


\  a  .;  A  /< 

XJNIVEPSITT 

»5LCAL»FOn2J> 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

Swiss  hotels.  This  I  saw  in  the  "  Report  of  the 
Proceedings  of  the  Swiss  Innkeepers'  Associa- 
tion." Of  course,  this  does  not  mean  that  any 
such  number  of  tourists  visited  Switzerland  in 
that  year,  for  the  same  tourists  registered  over 
and  over  again  at  different  hotels.  There  is  no 
way  of -ascertaining  the  number  of  actual  tourists. 
But  twenty-five  millions  of  hotel  registrations 
will  give  some  idea  of  the  number.- 

I  have  said  that  Switzerland  makes  wild  lands 
profitable  which  in  other  countries  pay  nothing. 
So  she  does.  She  makes  rivers  of  ancient  ice 
and  seas  of  modern  ice  bring  her  in  a  profit. 
People  pay  her  millions  yearly  for  seeing  the  sun 
rise  and  set — or,  rather,  for  not  seeing  it  rise  and 
set,  for  when  they  have  ascended  the  mountains 
for  that  purpose  it  nearly  always  rains.  It  has 
been  said  that  the  sea  yields  more  food  to  man, 
acre  for  acre,  than  the  land.  It  would  be  inter- 
esting to  ascertain  the  gains  of  Switzerland  from 
her  rugged  mountains,  her  glaciers,  and  her 
pocket  valleys,  and  to  compare  them  with  the 
gains  from  level  arable  land,  acre  for  acre — like 
the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  for  example.  The  com- 
parison would  be  a  difficult  one  to  make,  but  I 
believe  that  the  arable  land  would  suffer. 

Switzerland  has  not  left  her  wild  mountains  as 
387 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

God  made  them.  Having  the  usufruct  of  them, 
she  has  tried  to  tame  them  for  the  use  of  man. 
She  has  constructed  magnificent  roads  over  lofty- 
mountain  passes  —  roads  of  so  easy  a  gradient 
that  a  pair  of  horses  can  draw  a  fair  load  up  the 
hill  at  an  easy  trot.  She  has  builded  these 
mountain  roads  so  substantially  that  the  road- 
beds seem  like  parts  of  the  very  mountain  rock. 
She  has  constructed  stone  parapets  for  hundreds 
of  miles  along  the  outer  edges  of  these  mountain 
roads.  She  has  spanned  yawning  chasms  with 
magnificent  stone  and  iron  bridges,  which,  seen 
from  afar,  sometimes  look  like  cobwebs  and 
sometimes  look  like  lace.  She  has  harnessed  the 
torrents  which  pour  down  the  flanks  of  her 
mountains,  and  from  them  has  generated  vast 
volumes  of  electric  energy  for  light,  and  heat, 
and  power.  She  has  built  funicular  railways  up 
the  sides  of  her  mountains,  and  she  hauls  loads 
of  human  beings  to  the  tops  of  lofty  peaks  by 
the  power  generated  from  the  mountains'  own 
streams.  She  has  built  hundreds  of  miles  of 
combination  railways — funicular,  cog-wheel,  and 
frictional — and  has  wound  ribbons  of  rails  around 
and  over  mountain  ranges,  where  only  an  Ameri- 
can buckboard  might  be  expected  to  go.  She 
has  erected  mammoth  hotels,  with  every  modern 

388 


r 

The  Territet-Glio?i  railway  up  the  Rockers  de  Naye.'" 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

comfort,  upon  her  lake  shores  and  on  her  moun- 
tain peaks.  She  has  accompHshed  engineering 
feats  in  railway  construction  which  make  even 
American  engineers  marvel.  And  she  has  honey- 
combed her  mammoth  mountains,  and  pierced 
the  Alps  with  mighty  tunnels  which  are  the 
wonder  of  mankind. 

People  who  have  not  visited  Switzerland  of  late 
years  would  be  surprised  at  the  restless  enterprise 
of  the  Swiss.  They  are  forever  building  moun- 
tain railways.  It  is  but  a  few  years  since  I  was 
last  in  Switzerland,  yet  several  new  roads  have 
been  constructed  since  then.  One  of  the  latest 
is  the  Gunnegrat  railway,  which  was  completed 
in  1898.  It  is  the  highest  mountain  railway  in 
Europe.  It  is  a  rack-and-pinion  electric  line,  and 
runs  nearly  to  the  top  of  the  Gunnegrat,  which 
is  1 0,290  feet  high.  The  road  is  over  six  miles 
long,  and  has  a  maximum  gradient  of  twenty  per 
cent.  There  are  two  modern  hotels  on  the  moun- 
tain above  Zermatt. 

Another  mountain  railway  of  comparatively 
recent  construction  is  the  Territet-Glion  funicular 
road.  It  starts  from  the  town  of  Glion  on  Lake 
Leman  (the  Lake  of  Geneva),  and  climbs  to  the 
top  of  the  mountain  known  as  the  Rochers  de 
Naye.     Half-way  up  the  mountain,  at  an  altitude 

389 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

of  thirty-three  hundred  feet,  is  a  hotel  and  collec- 
tion of  houses  known  as  Caux.  At  the  top  of 
the  mountain  is  another  comfortable  hotel.  This 
mountain  is  not  so  well  known  as  the  Rigi,  near 
Lucerne,  but  the  panorama  from  its  peak  is  one 
of  the  finest  in  Switzerland.  It  commands  the 
Bernese  Alps,  with  the  Matterhorn,  Eiger,  Jung- 
frau,  Monch,  and  Finsteraarhorn ;  the  Aiguille 
Verte  and  the  Aiguille  d^Argentiere  in  Savoy ; 
the  Alps  of  the  Canton  of  Vaud,  the  highest 
peak  of  which  is  the  Tour  d* Ai ;  a  part  of  the 
Valois,  with  the  Grand  Combin  and  the  Dent  du 
Midi ;  and  the  whole  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 

At  the  base  of  this  mountain  lies  one  of  the 
most  interesting  "settlements"  in  Switzerland.  I 
use  this  term  for  the  country  collectively  known 
as  "  Montreux,"  as  the  towns  and  villages  are  so 
numerous  that  they  are  practically  continuous. 
Vevey  is  perhaps  the  principal  town,  the  scene  of 
Rousseau*s  "Nouvelle  Heloise."  Then,  along 
the  curving  lake  shore,  come  Clarens,  Vernex, 
Territet,  Bonport,  Planchamp,  Charnex,  Glion, 
Colonges,  and  Veyteaux — the  district  of  Mon- 
treux  extending  as  far  as  the  famous  Castle  of 
Chillon. 

It  is  needless  to  speak  here  of  the  Rigi  and 
Pilatus  railways,  for  they  are  the  oldest  among  the 

390 


THE    THRIFTY   SWISS 

mountain  roads  of  Switzerland.  The  Vitznau 
line  of  the  Rigi  was  finished  years  ago. 

The  Kaltbad-Scheidig  is  another  and  later  rail- 
way which  climbs  the  Rigi. 

The  Arth-Rigi  railway  is  one  which  starts  from 
Arth  on  the  lake  of  Zug.  Most  travelers  climb 
the  mountain  by  the  railways  running  up  from 
the  lake  of  Lucerne. 

The  Pilatus  railway  starts  from  Alpnachstad 
and  climbs  the  Pilatus  by  a  gradient  of  38. 

From  Kehrseiten,  on  Lake  Lucerne,  a  railway 
runs  up  the  Burgenstock. 

A  railway  runs  up  the  Stanserhorn  6,230  feet, 
330  feet  higher  than  the  Rigi. 

A  railway  runs  up  the  Gutsch  mountain  near 
Lucerne. 

In  1899,  a  railway  was  run  up  the  Gurten  peak 
near  Berne. 

This  is  an  incomplete  list  of  Swiss  mountain 
railways — in  fact,  it  would  be  difficult  to  make 
a  complete  list.  New  lines  are  continually  being 
projected.  Old  travelers  are  surprised  to  find  so 
many  new  mountain  railways  when  they  revisit 
Switzerland.  These  roads  are  not  confined  to 
Switzerland  proper,  for  you  find  them  also  in 
Savoy,  near  the  Swiss  frontier.  There  is  a  fine 
funicular  railway  which    climbs   Mount    Revard 

391 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

near  Aix-les-Bains ;  it  was  built  only  two  years 
ago. 

Even  now  the  Swiss  are  pushing  railways  up 
the  mountain  peaks  and  boring  tunnels  through 
the  mountain  ranges  in  every  direction.  During 
the  summer  of  1900,  several  hundred  men  were 
working  on  a  railway  up  the  Valley  of  Chamou- 
nix ;  work  there  will  be  resumed  at  the  close  of 
the  long  and  bitter  Alpine  winter.  In  another 
year  it  will  be  possible  to  go  from  Geneva  by  rail 
almost  to  the  Mer  de  Glace  and  the  foot  of  Mont 
Blanc — if  that  mammoth  mountain  can  be  said 
to  have  a  foot.  This  road  is  another  of  the  com- 
bination cog-wheel  roads  now  so  common  in 
Switzerland. 

Some  readers  may  think  that  these  many 
mountain  railways  are  trumpery  aiFairs.  If  they 
think  so,  let  them  examine  the  roads.  They  will 
find  that  their  construction  has  involved  much 
engineering  skill  and  large  sums  of  money. 

Not  content  with  mountain  railways,  Switzer- 
land is  still  boring  her  mountain  walls.  There 
are  now  three  tunnels  through  the  Alps :  The 
Arlberg,  six  and  one-quarter  miles  long;  the 
Mont  Cenis,  seven  and  one-half  miles  long ;  and 
the  St.  Gothard,  nine  and  one-quarter  miles  long. 
All   of  these   are   to    be   eclipsed    by  the   great 

392 


ff  V 


THE    THRIFTY   SWISS 

Simplon  tunnel,  which  was  begun  in  1898.  On 
this  tunnel  about  5,000  workingmen  are  at  present 
engaged.  It  is  to  be  twelve  and  one-half  miles 
long,  and  will  be  completed  in  1903.  Its  cost  is 
estimated  at  70,000,000  francs.  It  is  about  2,200 
feet  above  the  sea  and  some  7,000  feet  below  the 
peak  of  the  mountain  under  which  it  runs — the 
Wassenhorn.  There  is  a  parallel  tunnel  being 
bored,  on  which  the  railway  tracks  will  not  be 
laid  for  the  present.  I  saw  in  a  Swiss  paper  that 
there  are  in  this  parallel  tunnel,  at  regular  inter- 
vals on  the  Swiss  side  of  the  frontier,  chambers 
containing  dynamite,  with  electric  connections  for 
exploding  the  charges.  These  chambers,  accord- 
ing to  the  Swiss  journal,  were  for  the  purpose 
of  collapsing  the  tunnel  in  the  event  of  an  Ital- 
ian invasion  of  Switzerland. 


The  city  of  Geneva  has  often  been  described, 
yet  many  writers  fail  to  mention  its  great  water- 
works and  plant  for  generating  electric  power — 
the  "  Forces  Motrices  du  Rhone."  There  are 
few  large  cities  in  the  world  so  fortunate  as  to 
possess  a  great  water-power  at  their  very  doors. 
Geneva  is  so  situated.  The  Rhone,  issuing  from 
the  Lake  of  Geneva,  passes  directly  through  the 

393 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

city.  Not  many  years  ago  the  municipality  con- 
structed enormous  water-works,  supplying  not 
only  water  but  electric  power.  The  buildings 
containing  the  enormous  turbines  and  dynamos 
are  among  the  sights  of  Geneva.  These  and  the 
other  works  further  down-stream  generate  some 
20,000  horse-power  at  a  nominal  charge  per 
horse-power  per  year.  Think  of  the  power  of 
20,000  horses  used  in  any  California  city!  There 
is  no  coal  in  California.  Steam-power  must  be 
generated  at  so  high  a  cost  for  coal  that  many 
kinds  of  manufacturing  are  impossible.  While 
California  has  no  city  situated  as  is  Geneva  upon 
a  great  river  like  the  Rhone,  she  has  great  rivers 
and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  horse-power  in  her 
mountain  streams.  Some  day  this  power,  now 
unharnessed,  will  be  utilized,  when  California 
shall  have  become  as  fully  awake  to  her  great 
resources  as  is  the  little  republic  of  Switzerland. 
Geneva  has  an  extensive  system  of  narrow- 
gauge  steam  tramways  (chemins  de  fer  a  voie 
etroite)^  which  is  rapidly  being  converted  into  an 
electric  system.  These  roads  run  in  every  direc- 
tion— from  Geneva  to  Ferney,  where  is  the  quaint 
villa  of  Voltaire;  to  Pregny,  where  one  finds  the 
imposing  Rothschild  chateau ;  across  the  French 
frontier  to  St.  Julien ;  to  the  Saleve,  a  picturesque 

394 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

mountain,  with  a  magnificent  view  of  Mont 
Blanc,  the  Lake,  the  Jura,  the  cantons  of  Geneva 
and  Vaud,  and  a  part  of  France ;  to  Vesenaz, 
with  the  Villa  Diodati,  where  Byron  wrote 
"  Manfred  " — in  a  word,  to  at  least  a  score  of 
places  within  and  without  Geneva's  confines. 

One  of  these  tramways  runs  to  a  place  much 
frequented  by  the  Genevese  —  the  Bois  de  la 
Batie.  We  one  day  hired  a  cabman  to  drive  us 
through  this  wood,  which  the  ingenuous  Gene- 
vese call  the  "  Bois  de  Boulogne  of  Geneva.'* 
It  is  not  a  magnificent  forest,  although  much 
admired  by  the  natives.  From  an  elevated  spot 
in  this  little  park  one  may  see  the  junction  of  the 
Rhone  and  the  Arve.  Where  it  emerges  from 
the  lake  the  Rhone  is  clear,  having  the  steel-blue 
color  of  the  lake  water.  The  Arve,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  muddy,  brownish  gray.  Where  it  runs 
into  the  Rhone  the  line  of  demarkation  between 
the  two  rivers  is  very  plain,  and  the  two  streams 
run  side  by  side  for  miles  without  mingling. 

I  directed  our  cabman  to  take  us  to  the  spot 
in  the  park  whence  one  could  see  the  junction 
^^  des  deux  fleuves^^  or  streams.  He  politely  cor- 
rected me.  "  Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  he;  "  but 
the  Arve  is  not  a  fleuve^  it  is  a  riviere ;  the 
Rhone  is  a  fleuve^     Geneva  is  the   Boston  of 

395 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Europe  ;  her  matrons  gossip  of  Greek  roots ; 
her  very  babes  prattle  in  hexameters — or  rather 
alexandrines.  Still,  I  do  not  see  how  my  learned 
cabman,  or  any  other  graduate  of  any  one  of  the 
six  thousand  schools  of  Switzerland,  could  in  one 
word  speak  of  the  meeting  of  a  "  fleuve  *'  and  a 
"  riviere "  in  any  other  way.  The  greater  in- 
cludes the  less.  The  Genevese  are  said  to  pride 
themselves  on  speaking  better  French  than  the 
Parisians.  I  can  readily  believe  it  after  this  ex- 
perience with  my  pedagogic  cabman.  It  would 
be  almost  as  surprising  to  have  a  Boston  Jehu 
tell  you  not  to  split  your  infinitives,  or  for  a 
London  cabby  to  warn  a  Scotchman  not  to  con- 
fuse "will"  and  "shall." 

As  the  convention  for  the  amelioration  of  the 
horrors  of  war  was  held  at  Geneva,  the  Red  Cross 
flag  was  adopted  in  honor  of  Switzerland.  It  is 
a  reversal  of  the  flag  of  Switzerland — a  white 
cross  on  a  red  field.  To  a  heedless  observer, 
however,  the  two  flags  look  very  much  alike. 
Wherever  you  see  fleets  of  pleasure-boats  on  the 
Swiss  lakes  you  see  the  flags  of  every  nation  un- 
der the  sun — even  the  Swiss  flag.  For  the  Swiss, 
while  more  than  willing  to  please  strangers  by  fly- 
ing foreign  flags  on  Swiss  hotels  and  steamers,  also 
please  themselves  by  flying  their  own.     On  the 

396 


THE    THRIFTY   SWISS 

Grand  Quay  at  Geneva  I  heard  a  young  woman 
remark  one  day:  "How  curious  that  you  see 
the  Red  Cross  flag  everywhere  in  Switzerland!" 
It  was  indeed  curious — that  is,  curious  that  she 
should  make  the  remark,  for  it  was  not  the  Red 
Cross  flag  that  she  saw,  but  a  white-cross  flag. 
Her  remark  was  not  unlike  that  of  the  man  who, 
when  he  saw  the  play  of  "Hamlet"  for  the  first 
time,  said  that  it  lacked  originality,  "  it  Was  so  full 
of  quotations." 


Switzerland  runs  Hke  clockwork.  Her  hotel- 
keepers  close  down  their  establishments  on  a 
certain  day,  when  the  season  wanes.  They  take 
account  of  stock,  pack  away  immovables,  pack  up 
some  movables,  and  ship  their  servants  to  the 
south.  There,  on  a  certain  day,  they  open  their 
winter  hotels — on  the  French  or  Italian  Riviera, 
in  Florence,  Venice,  Naples,  or  Rome.  When 
the  winter  season  is  over,  they  ship  their  servants 
back  to  Switzerland,  and  on  a  certain  day  the 
wheels  begin  running  again.  As  a  result,  the 
Swiss  hotels  are  very  well  run,  but  sometimes 
their  dates  fall  a  little  too  early  or  too  late  for 
tourists.  In  the  summer  of  1900  the  Paris  Expo- 
sition, the  Passion  Play,  and  the  weather  aflfected 

397 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  dates  of  the  roaming  bands  which  in  modern 
times  have  succeeded  to  the  pilgrims  of  old.  Hu- 
man beings  in  their  wandering  instinct  are  not 
unlike  the  birds  of  passage,  whose  flights  from 
north  to  south  are  ruled  by  the  weather.  But 
clockwork  runs  in  hot  and  cold  seasons,  in  fair 
weather  and  foul.  If  certain  Swiss  hotels  are 
scheduled  to  open  on  July  ist,  they  open  the 
doors  on  that  day.  There  may  be  no  guests  to 
whom  to  open  the  doors.  They  open  just  the 
same.  The  hotel  on  July  ist  may  be  empty, 
and  on  July  25th  turning  people  away. 

One  of  the  most  frequented  places  in  Switzer- 
land is  Vevey,  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva.  It  is 
particularly  affected  by  the  English,  and  has  been 
an  English  resort  for  a  couple  of  centuries.  In 
fact,  one  finds  there  a  tablet  to  Edmund  Ludlow, 
one  of  the  Stuart  regicides,  who  was  forced  to  fly 
from  England  after  the  Restoration.  Even  in 
those  days  Switzerland  was  a  haven  of  refuge.  It 
was  probably  the  only  place  in  Europe  which 
Ludlow  could  find  that  was  not  too  hot  to  hold 
him.  He  lived  and  died  in  Vevey.  The  place 
is  beautifully  situated  on  the  lake,  with  an  amphi- 
theatre of  mountains  encircling  it  on  the  north ; 
thus  the  cold  north  winds  are  rarely  felt  there. 
Across  the  lake  are  the  Alps  of  French  Savoy,  to 

398 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

the  right  the  Jura  range,  and  to  the  left  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Rhone,  framed  by  the  Vaudois  Alps. 
Vevey  has  many  hotels,  and  the  leading  one 
probably  is  the  Grand  Hotel.  This  is  a  large  and 
handsome  building,  situated  on  the  shores  of  the 
lake,  and  surrounded  by  such  extensive  gardens 
that  they  justly  merit  the  title  of  "Vevey  Park." 
The  hotel  has  its  own  pier,  at  which  the  lake 
steamers  land.  It  has  a  jetty  and  a  small  artificial 
harbor  for  pleasure-boats.  It  has  all  kinds  of 
boats,  from  a  steam-yacht  to  a  skiff.  It  has  all 
sorts  of  amusements,  including  tennis-courts,  and 
it  has  extensive  stables  for  horse-vehicles  and 
automobiles.  In  short,  it  offers  every  attraction 
that  well-kept  modern  hotels  can  give  in  a  coun- 
try as  highly  specialized  as  is  Switzerland.  If 
Switzerland  runs  like  clockwork,  each  of  these 
big  Swiss  hotels  runs  like  a  watch. 

We  reached  the  Grand  Hotel  of  Vevey  on  the 
second  of  July,  the  day  after  it  opened.  The 
smart  omnibus  was  at  the  station,  with  its  driver 
and  conductor  in  gorgeous  liveries.  We  were 
driven  up  an  avenue  of  tall  trees  through  the 
large  park  to  the  carriage  portal.  As  our  vehicle 
approached,  a  bell  rang,  and  the  retinue  came  out 
to  receive  us.  It  was  headed  by  the  manager  in  a 
frock-coat,  the  maitre  (T hotel  in  a  swallow-tail  coat, 

399 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  head-porter  in  a  field-marshal's  uniform,  the 
lesser  porters  in  jackets  and  brass-bound  caps, 
the  waiters  in  conventional  waiter  garb,  and  num- 
bers of  boys  in  buttons.  A  wave  of  bows  ran 
down  this  long  line  as  we  were  ushered  into  the 
fine  hotel.  We  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
rooms  to  our  liking,  although  the  manager, 
through  professional  habit,  would  hesitate  over 
each  room  number.  We  were  shown  through 
the  "grand  salon,"  taken  up  in  the  lift,  and  our 
footfalls  echoed  along  the  empty  corridors  as  we 
were  shown  to  our  rooms  by  obsequious  lackeys. 
From  around  corners  and  out  of  doorways  peered 
the  white-capped  heads  of  waiting-maids.  There 
was  an  air  of  expectancy  about  them  all.  What 
could  it  mean? 

After  we  had  removed  the  dust  of  travel  we 
descended  and  passed  again  through  the  "  grand 
salon."  It  was  empty.  We  went  out  upon  the 
spacious  terrace.  Empty.  We  wandered  through 
the  long  avenues  in  the  garden.  Empty.  We 
went  down  to  the  lake  shore.  The  fine  steam- 
yacht  lay  at  its  anchor.  It  was  empty.  Gayly 
painted  skiffs  and  shallops  —  with  names  Hke 
"Bessie"  and  "Emma"  painted  on  them,  I  ob- 
served, instead  of  Swiss  diminutives — rocked  on 
the  blue  waves  of  the  lake  and  pulled  at  their 

400 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

painters.  They  were  empty.  We  went  to  the 
lawn-tennis  courts,  to  the  swimming-bath,  to  the 
billiard -rooms,  to  the  gymnasium.  All  empty. 
We  went  back  to  the  hotel  and  entered  the  grand 
dining-room.  With  the  exception  of  the  lines 
of  idle  waiters,  that  was  empty,  too.  The  great 
hotel  was  like  one  of  the  palaces  in  Irving's 
"Tales  of  the  Alhambra,"  where  everything  had 
been  brought  to  a  standstill  by  some  powerful 
magician. 

The  mattre  cT hotel  approached  us  to  take  the 
order  for  our  dinner.     I  said  to  him  : 

"How  many  people  are  stopping  in  the 
hotel?" 

He  paused,  made  a  slight  swallowing  motion, 
and  replied : 

"Seventeen,  monsieur." 

Something  clicked  in  his  throat.  It  was  the 
falsehood  he  was  swallowing.  Poor  man  !  Hotel 
loyalty  made  him  lie. 

Before  the  fish  was  served  we  heard  soun4s  of 
music.  It  was  an  orchestra  in  the  "grand  salon." 
Throughout  dinner  we  were  favored  with  the 
latest  melodies  by  this  orchestra,  and  after  dinner 
we  repaired  to  the  salon^  where  coffee  was  served. 
There  we  saw  the  remainder  of  the  seventeen 
guests.     He  was  seated  at  a  small  table,  smoking 

AA  401 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

a  cigar  with  great  gravity,  while  in  front  of  him, 
with  equal  gravity,  were  twelve  musicians  furnish- 
ing him  with  sweet  music,  as  per  advertisement. 
The  orchestra  had  been  ordered  for  the  first  of 
July,  and  according  to  Swiss  clockwork  meth- 
ods it  would  have  played  on  the  first  of  July  if 
there  had  been  an  avalanche. 

I  have  rarely  seen  anything  quite  so  curious  as 
the  spectacle  of  this  solitary  American  tourist 
seated  in  the  "grand  salon"  of  the  Grand  Hotel 
at  Vevey,  smoking  a  cigar  to  the  music  of  a  full 
string  band,  while  around  him  slowly  revolved 
the  wheels  of  a  great  hotel. 


Among  the  objections  which  some  superaes- 
thetic  people  have  to  Switzerland  are  its  large 
modern  hotels  as  well  as  its  mountain  railways. 
These  objections  seem  to  me  to  be  unsound. 
True,  the  Swiss  have  run  railways  up  many  of 
their  mountains,  and  they  have  put  fine  hotels  at 
the  terminus  of  each  of  these  mountain  railways. 
But  there  is  no  cantonal  or  federal  law  obliging 
aesthetic  tourists  to  stop  at  these  hotels  or  to 
travel  on  these  railways.  If  they  do  not  like  the 
railways  they  may  travel  by  the  diligence,  or 
stage-coach,   or  hire  carriages.     If  they  do  not 

402 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

like  the  carriage-hire — and  very  likely  they  will 
not — they  may  walk.  If  any  aesthetic  tourist 
objects  to  the  railway  up  the  Rigi-Kulm,  he  may 
climb  the  mountain  on  foot.  If  he  objects  to 
the  sight  of  the  Hotel  Rigi  on  the  Rigi-Kulm, 
he  may  walk  up  the  other  side.  The  walking  is 
said  to  be  quite  good  on  that  side,  and  the  view 
is  believed  to  be  even  finer. 

I  have  frequently  suggested  these  expedients 
to  aesthetic  tourists,  but  they  generally  make  no 
reply,  and  look  at  me  with  a  sour  expression. 
Sometimes  it  makes  them  quite  cross. 

As  for  the  unaesthetic  modern  hotels,  there  are 
plenty  of  the  other  kind  in  Switzerland.  The 
aesthetic  tourist  who  objects  to  electric  lights  and 
lifts  can  go  to  the  small  hotels,  where  he  will  have 
the  dim,  funereal  light  of  smoky  coal-oil  lamps 
and  be  obliged  to  walk  upstairs.  These  are 
cheaper  than  the  modern  hotels  and  more  pic- 
turesque. 

There  is  a  still  lower  grade  of  inn,  much 
cheaper,  and  possibly  more  romantic.  These 
places  are  frequented  by  cowherds,  tramps,  and 
insects.  ^Esthetic  tourists  can  find  them  with 
little  difficulty.  Matthew  Arnold,  the  Apostle 
of  Sweetness  and  Light,  was  one  of  the  aesthetic 
tourists  who  objected  to  modern  conveniences  in 

403 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

Switzerland.  Unlike  Ruskin — who  railed  at 
railways  on  grounds  of  aestheticism,  but  who 
traveled  by  them  on  grounds  of  convenience — 
Arnold  was  consistent.  He  occasionally  took 
walking-tours  through  Switzerland,  and  stopped 
at  these  peasant  beer-houses.  I  could  not  help 
but  smile  once,  in  reading  Arnold's  letters,  when 
I  found  in  an  epistle  to  his  wife  a  graphic  de- 
scription of  the  Apostle  of  Sweetness  and  Light 
waking  up  in  the  night,  lighting  a  candle,  and  in- 
stituting a  diligent  search  in  the  grimy  bedclothes 
for  the  cimex  lectularius. 

As  for  the  aesthetic  tourists  who  not  only  object 
to  Swiss  hotels  and  railways  but  even  to  their 
fellow-tourists,  to  bands  of  "Cookies,"  and  to 
the  sight  of  red-bound  guide-books,  they  can 
easily  avoid  them  by  shunning  the  highways  of 
travel  and  going  to  less  frequented  parts  of  Swit- 
zerland. Small  as  the  little  republic  is,  there  are 
many  places  there  unknown  to  tourists.  Victor 
Tissot,  the  entertaining  French  traveler,  has 
written  a  vivacious  volume  called  "  Unknown 
Switzerland."  From  it  the  lover  of  solitude  may 
learn  that  there  are  hundreds  of  other  places 
in  Switzerland  beside  Lucerne,  Geneva,  the 
Bernese  Oberland,  and  the  Engadine. 

But  the  superaesthetic  tourists  who  object  to 
404 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

Swiss  railways  and  hotels  are  few  in  number. 
Switzerland  is  a  playground  for  the  world,  and 
travelers  come  to  the  little  federation  from  every 
corner  of  the  globe.  Ninety-nine  per  cent,  of 
them  are  pleased  with  the  excellent  transportation 
and  comfortable  hotels.  The  superaesthetic  tour- 
ists who  object  to  improving  the  face  of  nature 
are  probably  not  more  than  one  per  cent. 

These  curious  critics  have  some  cousins  in 
California.  For  many  years  there  has  been  talk 
of  utilizing  the  water-power  in  the  Yosemite  for 
running  funicular  railways  up  the  mountain-sides 
and  operating  an  electric  rack-and-pinion  railway 
over  the  mountains  and  into  the  valley.  Yet 
whenever  this  project  is  discussed  there  arises  a 
cry  of  "Vandalism."  Why  vandalism?  Is  it 
vandalism  to  render  it  possible  for  thousands  of 
people  to  visit  the  valley  who  otherwise  never 
could  reach  there  ?  Is  it  vandalism  to  render  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain  trails  easy  where  now  it 
is  difficult  ?  Is  it  vandalism  to  render  the  scaling 
of  the  mountains  possible  to  the  weak,  the  elderly, 
and  the  timid,  where  now  it  is  impossible  ?  In 
twenty  years,  from  the  'sixties  to  the  'eighties, 
the  number  of  tourists  entering  the  valley  in- 
creased only  from  twelve  hundred  to  twenty-five 
hundred.     Were  it  possible  for  people  to  visit 

405 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

the  valley  with  a  certain  degree  of  cheapness  and 
ease,  the  visitors  would  be  numbered  by  scores 
of  thousands  where  now  they  are  numbered  by 
scores  of  hundreds.  Europe  does  not  call  it  van- 
dalism to  run  railways  up  the  Swiss  mountains ; 
why  then  would  it  be  vandaHsm  to  run  them  up 
the  mountains  of  California? 

To  dwell  upon  California's  scenery  is  needless. 
All  the  world  knows  of  her  Yosemite  Valley,  her 
groves  of  big  trees,  her  petrified  forests,  and  her 
magnificent  lakes.  But  not  every  one  knows  that 
there  is  in  California  an  Alpine  region  of  which 
Switzerland  would  have  no  need  to  be  ashamed. 
Not  to  mention  her  other  mountain  ranges,  there 
is  in  the  Sierra  Nevada,  between  3  5  and  3  8  degrees 
latitude,  an  area  of  several  hundred  square  miles 
with  an  elevation  exceeding  8,000  feet.  In  this 
California-Switzerland  there  are  over  one  hun- 
dred peaks  exceeding  10,000  feet  in  height.  The 
best  known  of  these  are:  Mount  Lassen,  over 
10,000  feet;  Mount  Silliman,  nearly  12,000  feet; 
Mount  Brewer,  nearly  14,000  feet;  Mount  Lyell, 
over  13,000  feet;  Mount  Dana,  over  13,000 
feet;  Mount  Tyndall,  over  14,000  feet;  Mount 
Whitney,  nearly  15,000  feet. 

There  are  many  other  peaks  in  this  region 
which  would  be  mighty  mountains  in  other  parts 

406 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

of  the  world,  but  which  here  are  lost  in  the  pro- 
fusion of  peaks,  so  that  they  are  not  even  named. 
There  are  several  about  as  high  as  Mount  Shasta, 
but  that  mountain,  with  its  nearly  14,500  feet, 
owing  to  its  solitary  position,  looks  infinitely  more 
imposing  than  mountains  like  Mount  Tyndall. 
One  of  these  peaks.  Mount  Whitney,  is  prac- 
tically as  high  as  Mont  Blanc,  the  highest  peak 
in  the  Alps.  Mount  Whitney  is  surrounded 
by  many  other  lofty  peaks,  and  therefore  is  not, 
like  Mount  Shasta,  distinguishable  from  many 
distant  points.  Mount  Shasta  is  7,000  feet 
higher  than  any  elevation  within  many  miles  of  it. 
Mont  Blanc  is  visible  from  Switzerland,  Italy,  and 
France.  But  Mount  Whitney,  in  the  California 
Alps,  is  jostled  by  so  many  rival  peaks  that  a 
stranger  can  hardly  pick  it  out  from  among  the 
others. 

How  many  people  visit  these  Alpine  regions 
of  California?  Only  a  few  hundreds  a  year. 
Even  Californians  neglect  them,  and  visit  other 
parts  of  the  world  which  have  been  made  more 
accessible.  Were  some  of  the  Swiss  "vandal- 
ism" to  be  applied  to  California,  she  would 
have  hundreds  of  thousands  of  visitors  yearly. 
True,  Switzerland  is  surrounded  by  the  swarming 
millions    of    Europe.      But    California    has    the 

407 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

seventy -five  millions  of  the  United  States  to 
draw  upon. 

Let  not  a  returning  Californian  be  deemed  dis- 
loyal if  he  speaks  in  these  terms  of  his  native 
State.  It  is  no  slander  upon  California  to  say 
that  she  needs  more  steam  railways,  more  electric 
railways,  more  funicular  railways,  more  mountain 
and  seashore  hotels,  and  last  but  not  least,  a  rail- 
way into  the  Yosemite  Valley. 

There  are  some  villages  in  the  high  Alps  of 
Switzerland  made  up  almost  entirely  of  returned 
Swiss  burghers  who  have  accumulated  modest 
competences  in  foreign  lands.  They  spend  the 
evening  of  their  lives  in  these  high  altitudes  be- 
cause they  passionately  love  even  these  bleak  and 
cheerless  mountain  regions.  Switzerland  has  a 
most  inclement  climate.  Many  tourists  visit 
there  and  never  see  the  sun.  Travelers  often 
remain  for  days  storm-bound  in  their  inns. 
When  the  steamers  land  at  the  piers  on  the 
Swiss  lakes  it  is  edifying  to  see  dismal  "pleasure- 
seekers"  debarking  wrapped  in  mackintoshes  and 
streaming  with  rain;  at  times  it  is  almost  plaintive 
to  see  Somebody's  Luggage  dumped  upon  the 
pier  by  the  oilskin-clad  sailors — unclaimed  lug- 
gage, American  girls*  summer  trumpery,  wicker 
telescope-baskets,   for  example,  left  on   the  de- 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

serted  dock  under  a  pouring,  pitiless  Swiss  rain- 
storm. 

Compare  such  weather  as  this — and  it  is  the 
average  weather  of  Switzerland — with  the  long 
rainless  summers  and  mild  winters  of  California. 
You  can  leave  snow-clad  Mount  Lowe  in  mid- 
winter and  go  a  score  of  miles  to  Santa  Monica 
and  enjoy  a  swim  in  the  surf.  You  can  camp 
in  the  lofty  mountains  of  California  for  many 
weeks  in  summer  without  fearing  a  rain-storm. 
There  is  no  season  limit  in  California — the 
season  is  twelve  months  long.  There  is  no  vain 
search  for  climate  in  California — you  can  get  any 
kind  you  want  in  about  twenty-four  hours.  You 
can  go  from  San  Francisco  in  July  with  fog-horns 
booming,  raw  winds  blowing,  and  the  thermom- 
eter at  fifty  degrees,  and  in  forty  minutes  cross 
the  bay  to  Ross  Valley,  where  there  is  bright 
sunshine  and  the  thermometer  at  seventy-five. 
You  can  get  the  warm,  dry  air  of  the  inland  cities 
near  the  desert,  like  San  Bernardino,  the  warm, 
humid  air  of  the  seaboard  cities  near  the  des- 
ert, like  San  Diego,  or  the  cold,  dry  air  of  the 
high  Sierra.  You  can  find  every  kind  of  scenery, 
from  the  lofty  peaks  that  soar  up  to  the  sky 
around  Yosemite  to  the  limitless  leagues  of  level 
land  in  our  great  interior  valleys.     You  can  find 

409 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

mighty  rivers  rolling  placidly  to  the  sea,  like  the 
Sacramento,  and  impetuous  torrents  that  hurl 
themselves  over  rocky  beds  and  rapids,  like  the 
Klamath  and  the  Pit  Rivers.  You  can  find 
waterfalls  descending  from  heights  of  nearly  three 
thousand  feet,  making  leaps  of  a  thousand  feet 
at  a  jump,  like  the  Yosemite  fall.  You  can  find 
almost  every  kind  of  fish  that  swims,  from  the 
fresh- water  black-bass  and  trout  to  the  gigantic 
jewfish  of  the  Pacific,  fit  rival  to  Florida's 
tarpon.  You  can  find  almost  every  kind  of 
bird  that  flies,  from  a  canvasback  duck  to  a  black 
swan.  You  can  find  deer,  and  brown  bear,  and 
black  bear,  and  if  you  go  far  enough  you  may 
find  a  grizzly  bear,  and  be  sorry  that  you  found 
him.  You  can  find  mountain  lakes,  like  Tahoe — 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  to  which 
no  Swiss  lake  is  a  peer.  You  can  find  forests  of 
pine  and  redwood  and  the  giant  sequoias,  beside 
which  the  scrubby  dwarf  forests  of  the  Old 
World  seem  like  children's  toy  tin  trees.  In 
short,  the  seeker  for  health,  for  sport,  or  for 
climate,  can  find  more  of  it  in  California  than 
almost  anywhere  in  the  world. 

There  are  Californians  who  waver  in  their 
allegiance  to  the  climate  of  California.  Some- 
times the  climate  of  San  Francisco  has  made  me 

410 


THE   THRIFTY   SWISS 

cross.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  the  winds 
in  summer  were  too  cold,  that  the  fogs  in  sum- 
mer were  too  thick.  But  whenever  I  have 
crossed  the  continent — when  I  have  emerged 
from  New  York  at  ninety -five  degrees,  and 
entered  Chicago  at  one  hundred  degrees — when 
I  have  been  breathing  the  dust  of  alkali  deserts 
and  the  fiery  air  of  sagebrush  plains — these  are 
the  times  when  I  have  always  been  buoyed  up 
by  the  anticipation  of  inhaling  the  salt  air  of  San 
Francisco  Bay. 

If  ever  a  summer  wanderer  is  glad  to  get  back 
to  his  native  land,  it  is  I,  returning  to  my  native 
fog.  Like  that  prodigal  youth  who  returned  to 
his  home  and  filled  himself  with  husks,  so  I 
always  yearn  in  summer  to  return  to  mine,  and 
fill  myself  up  with  fog.  Not  a  thin,  insignificant 
mist,  but  a  fog — a  thick  fog — one  of  those  rich 
pea-soup  August  fogs  that  blow  in  from  the 
Pacific  Ocean  over  San  Francisco. 

When  I  leave  the  heated  capitals  of  other 
lands  and  get  back  to  California  uncooked,  I 
always  offer  up  a  thank-offering  to  Santa  Niebla, 
Our  Lady  of  the  Fogs.  Out  near  the  Presidio, 
where  Don  Joaquin  de  Arillaga,  the  old  coman- 
dantey  revisits  the  glimpses  of  the  moon,  clad  in 
rusty   armor,  with    his    Spanish    spindle-shanks 

4" 


ARGONAUT   LETTERS 

thrust  into  tall  leathern  boots — there  some  day  I 
shall  erect  a  chapel  to  Santa  Niebla.  And  I  have 
vowed  to  her  as  an  ex-voto  a  silver  fog-horn, 
which  horn  will  be  wound  by  the  winds  of  the 
broad  Pacific,  and  will  ceaselessly  sound  through 
the  centuries  the  litany  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Fogs. 

Every  Californian  has  good  reason  to  be  loyal 
to  his  native  land.  If  even  the  Swiss  villagers, 
born  in  the  high  Alps,  long  to  return  to  their 
birthplace,  how  much  the  more  does  the  exiled 
Californian  yearn  to  return  to  the  land  which 
bore  him.  There  are  other,  richer,  and  more  pop- 
ulous lands,  but  to  the  Californian  born,  California 
is  the  only  place  in  which  to  live.  And  to  the 
returning  Californian,  particularly  if  he  be  native- 
born,  the  love  of  his  birthplace  is  only  inten- 
sified by  visits  to  other  lands. 

Why  do  men  so  love  their  native  soil  ?  It  is 
perhaps  a  phase  of  the  human  love  for  the  mother. 
For  we  are  compact  of  the  soil.  Out  of  the 
crumbling  granite  eroded  from  the  ribs  of  Cali- 
fornia's Sierras  by  CaHfornia's  mountain  streams 
— out  of  the  earth  washed  into  California's  great 
valleys  by  her  mighty  rivers — out  of  this  the 
sons  of  California  are  made,  brain,  and  muscle, 
and  bone.  Why  then  should  they  not  love  their 
mother,  even  as  the  mountaineers  of  Montenegro, 

412 


THE    THRIFTY   SWISS 

of  Switzerland,  of  Savoy,  love  their  mountain 
birth-place  ?  Why  should  not  exiled  Californians 
yearn  to  return  ?  And  we  sons  of  California 
always  do  return;  we  are  always  brought  back 
by  the  potent  charm  of  our  native  land — back 
to  the  soil  which  gave  us  birth — and  at  the  last 
back  to  Earth,  the  great  mother,  from  whom  we 
sprung,  and  on  whose  bosom  we  repose  our  tired 
bodies  when*  our  work  is  done. 


413 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Academy,  French,  102. 

^tna,  35.  36- 

Alameda  Gardens,  13,  17- 

Alban  Mountains,  75,  119. 

Albert  the  Good,  289. 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  188, 

Alexandria,  36,  37,  42, 44  48. 

Alfonso,  Don,  180. 

Algeciras,  16. 

Algiers,  302, 

Alps,  23.  25,  77.  242,  249,  257 

277. 
Annecy,  270,  271, 
Aosta,  Duke  of,  86,  88. 
Apennine,  242. 
Appian  Way,  119,  197. 
Arab,  50,  51. 
Arabia,  58. 
Arno.  77  242. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  403. 
Azores,  1-4. 

B 

Balearic  Islands,  20. 
Barcelona,  20. 
Barrett,  372-378. 
Bauer,  Sebastian,  365. 
Beato,  Angelico,  237. 
Berlin,  275,  344. 
Bernhardt,  Sarah,  301. 
Bernini's  Colonnade,  160. 
Boden  See,  263,  264,  265. 
Boigne,  General  de,  267. 


Bologna,  342. 
Bonaparte,  Pauline,  323. 
Bonheur,  237. 
Booth,  Edwin,  372-380. 
Bordeaux,  326. 
Bordighera,  25. 
Borghese,  Cardinal,  153. 
Borghese,  Prince,  207. 
68,  70.  Borghese,  Palace,  323. 

Borghese,  Villa,  152,  154.  i55- 
Borgia,  Lucrezia,  177. 
Borgia  Tower,  196. 
259.  268,     Botticelli,  232,  233,  235,  236. 
Bourget,  Lake,  265,  277. 
Brera  Gallery,  247. 
Bronte,  Charlotte,  275. 
Byron,  395. 


Caine,  Hall,  86. 

Cairo,  48,  49.  52,  53-  6i-^7,  31 7. 350.  353. 

California,  78,  112,  113,  220,  223,  237, 

250-254.  288, 311,  405-413- 
Campagna,  75,  119,  121,  185,  187,  194, 

200,  216. 
Campo  Santo,  27,  28,  33, 
Canada,  318. 
Canova,  323. 

Capitoline  Hill,  124,  198. ' 
Capodimonte,  75  102. 
Cappanelle,  119,  120. 
Carlos,  King,  103. 
Carthagena,  20. 
Cascine,  The,  225-228. 
Castel  del  Ovo,  151. 


417 


INDEX 


Castel  GandoHo,  187. 

Cast  el  St.  Angelo,  184. 

Catherine  of  Russia,  178. 

Chambery,  261-282. 

Ch6ret,  203. 

Chicago,  52,  154,  155,  258,  283-308.  352. 

Christina  of  Sweden,  177-180. 

Cockayne,  272. 

Col  de  Fr^jus,  257. 

Colonna,  Piazza,  347. 

Colosseum,  129. 

Cook,  6,  53,  262. 

Corsica,  33. 

Crete,  36,  37,  71. 


Florence,  86,  102, 117,  225-241  248,  345, 

346. 
Florence,  Wm..  363,  364,  377. 
Florida,  311,  312,  314,  315,316,  317. 
Forum,  122,  123,  124,  129,  198,  199,  220. 
Forrest,  Edwin,  373. 
Fountain  of  Trevi,  198,  223. 
Fountain,  Pauline,  223. 
Fournier,  67. 

Fra  Angelico,  233,  236,  237. 
Fra  Lippo  Lippi,  233,  234. 
Francis  Joseph,  Emperor,  103. 


D 

D'Annunzio,  Gabriele,  85,  219. 

Daudet,  6,  382. 

da  Vinci,  Leonardo,  240. 

de  Maintenon,  Mme.,  262. 

de  Montespan,  Mme.,  262. 

de  Musset,  Alfred,  152. 

Dent  du  Chat,  279,  280,  281. 

deStael,  Mme.,  153. 

Dickens,  222. 

Diderot,  374,  375.  376. 

Dijon,  34,  265. 

du  Barry,  Madame,  262. 

Dumas,  34. 

Duse,  loi,  247. 


Easter,  75,  142,  152.  156. 
Egypt,  44-70. 
El-Azhar,  52-59. 
Elba,  33,  34- 
Eliot,  George,  247. 
Elizabeth  of  Austria,  353. 
EUsler,  Fanny,  366. 
Emin  Bey,  65,  66. 
Eugenie,  254,  353. 
"  Excelsior,"  258. 


Favre,  Louis,  258,  260. 
Ferdinand,  Prince,  79. 


"  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,"  364. 

Gautier,  4. 

Geneva,  393-397- 

Genoa,  20-28,  33,  102,  no,  255, 345, 346. 

Genoa,  Duke  of,  86,  150,  151. 

Gibraltar,  12-20,  38. 

Gilbert,  61. 

Ghiberti,  Lorenzo,  235. 

Golden  Rose,  176,  177,  180. 

Grand  Prix,  80. 

Gressoney,  102. 

H 

Harte,  Bret,  261,  265. 
Hautecombe,  277. 
Hawaiian  Islands,  2. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  153. 
Helena  of  Montenegro,  88,  104. 
Herculaneum,  96. 
Hogarth,  234. 
Hortense,  Queen,  278. 
Hugo,  Victor,  68,    254. 
Humbert,  25,  100-104,  150,  224. 
Hypatia,  42,  43. 

I 

Ireland,  273. 
Irving,  Henry,  365. 
Isabella  of  Spain,  180. 


418 


INDEX 


Japan,  268,  302. 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  365,  377. 
Joan,  (^ueen,  240. 
Jockey  Club,  73. 

K 

Keats,  219. 

Khedive,  39,  53.  54.  65,  353. 

Koran,  54,  56,  57.  67. 


Laboulaye,  Edouartl,  318. 

Lake,  Alba  no,  187. 

Lang,  Anton,  365,  370, 380. 

La  Scala,  245,  246,  247. 

Legion  of  Honor,  74  75- 

Leo,  Pope,  126,  169,  184. 

Leonine  City,  184,  185. 

Leopold,  King,  79. 

Lewes,  George  Henry.  247,  248. 

Lindau,  263,  264,  265. 

Lodi,  254. 

Lombardy,  78,  104,  242-255. 

London,  42,  203,  246,  310,  317,  331-338, 

344.  353- 
Long  Island,  13. 
Los  Angeles,  254. 
Louis,  King,  179. 
Louvre,  235. 

Lucerne,  262,  263,  264, 316. 
Luini,  247. 
Luzzatto,  213-219. 
Lyons,  21,  34,  265,  273. 

M 

Macaulay,  95. 

Madonna,  233,  234,  236. 

Magenta,  254. 

Maggiore,  Lake,  78. 

Majorca,  20. 

Malaga,  20. 

Mameluke  Beys,  65. 

Margherita,  Queen,  99,  100-102,  126. 

Marengo,  254. 


Marseilles,  35. 

Mascagni,  Pietro,  93. 

Maximilian's  Tomb,  357. 

Mediterranean,  20,  21,  25,  38,  77. 

Melba,  246. 

Messina,  35,  36. 

Metternich,  366. 

Michael  Angelo,  168,  225,  232,  238,  241, 

294. 
Milan,  102,  214,  242-248,  273. 
Mohammed  Ali,  65,  66. 
Mohammedans,  54,  56,  58,  59,  60. 
Mont  Blanc,  270,  278. 
Mont  Cenis,  257,  265. 
Monte  Carlo,  23,  24,  25,  255. 
Montenegro,  Helena  of,  88,  104. 
Montmartre,  298,  299,  300. 
Monza,  102. 
Morelli  240 
Morris,  Clara,  374. 
Moses,  238. 

Munich,  154,  262,  263,  347,  356,  358,  379 
Murillo,  241. 

N 

Naples,  27,  35,  75-90.  "7.  142-151.  246, 

255.  343.  345- 
Naples,  Prince  of,  149,  150. 
Naples,  Princess  of,  149,  150. 
Napoleon,  33,  34,  74,  254,  366. 
New  Orleans,  208,  288,  311,  319,  322- 

325. 
New  York,  13,  26,  40,  42,  70,  203,  2/.16, 

258,  309.  310,  317,  3^9.  325.  332-331, 

372. 
Niagara,  270. 
Nice,  22,  23,  25,  255. 
Niebuhr,  152. 
Nile,  37,  45,  47.  48. 
North  German  Lloyd,  9,  10,  38. 
Novell!,  loi,  247. 
Nuremberg,  264. 


Oberammergau,  355,  356,  357,  360,  ^64, 

368,  369,  370,  378. 
O'Neill,  James,  380. 
Oreglia,  Cardinal,  170. 


419 


INDEX 


Palatine  Hill,  125,  119. 

Palazzo,  Corsini,  177. 

Palo  Alto,  53,  311. 

Palermo,  36,  77, 

Paquin,  74. 

Paris,  34,  73,  89,  158,  203,  256,  258,  283- 

308,  317,  318,  320,  330,  331,  332, 338, 

340. 
Passion  Play,  The,  355-381. 
Pecci,  Counts,  167. 
Pharos,  26. 

Piazza  Colonna,  200,  201. 
Pickwick,  361,  362. 
Piedmont,  78.  102,  103,  254-260. 
Pincian  Hili,  97,  197,  222. 
Pisa,  22. 
Pitti,  232. 

Pius  Ninth,  187,  196. 
Players'  Club,  372,  378. 
Po,  77,  242,  249. 
Pompadour,  Mme.  de,  264. 
Pompeii,  91-96,  143,  145. 
Pompey's  Pillar,  37,  40. 
Portici,  143,  145. 
Posilipo,  151, 
Prince  of  Wales,  25, 353. 
Punch,  275. 
Pyramids,  49,  50,  64,  350. 


Quirinal,  loi,  103,  122,  126,  167,  199, 
aoi. 

R 

Raphael,  232,  239,  241,  294. 

Resina,  143, 144,  i45.  I47 

Rembrandt,  363. 

Rhone.  265,  277,  393,  394. 

Riverside,  254. 

Riviera,  21,  22,  26,  36,  77,  151,  317. 

Rivoli,  254. 

Romanshom,  264. 

Rome,   75,  97-105,    109,    1 13-141,    152- 

159.  197-224,  248,  340-347. 
Romulus,  123. 
Rousseau,  278. 


Rudolf,  Prince,  79. 
Ruskin,  236,  238  404. 


Sahara,  76. 

St.  Augustine,  311,  312. 

Sainte  Chapelle,  267. 

St.  Gothard,  257. 

St.  John  Lateran,  120. 

St.  Peter's,  119,  122,  126-141,  160-180, 

188,  195,  248. 
Sala,  G.  A.,  333. 
Salt  Lake  City,  269. 
Salvini,  247. 
Sampietrini,  171,  172. 
Sandy  Hook,  276. 
San  Francisco,  2,  146,  151,  258,  283, 

288,  320-328. 
San  Carlo,  246. 
San  Diego  County,  254. 
San  Donato,  72. 
San  Remo,  24,  25,  316,  317, 
Santa  Clara  Valley,  250,  251. 
Sardinia,  35,  104. 
Sardinia,  King  of,  102, 103. 
Savonarola,  225. 
Savoy,  255,  261-282. 
Senate  House,  124'. 
Severus,  Arch  of,  130. 
Shakespeare,  269. 
Sicilia,  104. 
Sicily,  77. 
Simplon,  258,  393. 
Sistine  Chapel,  188. 
Sixtus,  196. 
Smith,  Sydney,  95. 
Solferino,  254. 
Sommdier,  257,  260. 
Sonzogno,  E.,  94. 
Sudan,  58. 
Spanish  Steps,  222. 
Stephanie,  Princess,  79,  80. 
Story,  95. 

Strand,  The,  334,  337. 
Stromboli,  35. 
Strozzi,  226. 
Sultan,  39. 


420 


INDEX 


Swiss  Guard,  i68,  i86,  187,  188,  190. 
Switzerland,  264.  274,  277,  27S,  382-413. 


Tewfik,  53. 
Thackeray,  71. 
Tiber,  122,  160,  184,  185,  220. 
Torre  Annunziata,  96,  143. 
Torre  del  Greco,  96,  143,  148. 
Trasteverini,  184. 
Turin,  102,  248,  255-260. 
Turin,  Count  of,  118,  225. 
Tuscany,  78,  104,  225. 

u. 

UflSzi,  232. 

Usher,  Bishop,  122. 


Via  Appia  Nuova,  119, 

Via  del  Tritone,  200,  201. 

Victor  Emanuel,  201. 

Victoria,  Queen,  25,  39,  289. 

Vienna,  76,  103,  231,  275,  288,  344,  347- 

Villa  Borghese,  152,  154,  155. 

Villafranca,  24,  25. 

Villa  Medici,  102. 

Virginia,  46. 

Voltaire,  394. 

w 

Washington,  285,  329-331. 
Weyler,  General,  20. 
Whistler,  221,  222. 
William,  Emperor,  80. 


Vatican,  103,  123,  134,  181-196. 
Vatican  Gardens,  182,  185,  195,  196. 
Ventimiglia,  24,  25. 
Versailles,  295. 
Vesuvius,  35,  75,  142-151. 


Yorkshire,  275. 

Yosemite,  18,  270,  298,  405,  408,  410. 


Zecca,  182,  183. 


421 


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